#and accidentally getting themselves in situations they can’t get out of

[musclesandhammering]

This is such great meta. I’m a huge series anti (and an even bigger s*lki anti), but this was one of the parts of the show that I actually really loved, because it meshed perfectly with my long-held interpretations of his motives. So, of course I’m gonna ramble about it.

I’ve always thought that Loki kept seeking a throne for several reasons:

What he really wanted was love and respect and acceptance, and- given the culture he grew up in- he associated all of that with kingship. Especially considering how he struggled with those things as an individual, he probably thought being king was the only way to achieve them.

His “birthright” has always been an anchor for him. He always felt like such an outcast, but the one thing that helped balance the scales for him (socially speaking) was the fact that he was in the line of succession. That’s like the one thing he had going for him, so it’s what he’d always cling to. So ofc when his life started falling apart, he clung to it even harder.

He always wanted to be Thor’s equal so badly, and sometime in the first movie he realised that, no matter what he did, he’d never stand next to Thor as an equal hero. So he decided that he would be Thor’s opposition- the villain, the competition- and maybe then they could be equal and opposite.

He feels so low on the food chain, so to speak, that he’s scrambling for some sort of leverage. Especially after everything that happened (having everyone against him in T1, the Thanos stuff, being an outlaw in T3, etc) he’s posturing to make himself seem more intimidating and in control than he really is, because internally he feels powerless.

So basically it’s: I don’t want to be king, but that’s the only way I’ll ever be respected, and it’s the only way I’ll ever be Thor’s equal, and it’s all I have, and it’s a defence mechanism.

I completely agree with you, though. He never wanted to be a king- he felt like he needed to- but in the show he’s realising that being a king was never going to help him anyway.

All of this also gives a nice meaning to Coulson’s line “You lack conviction.” All the fellow stans interpret that as “Loki was forced to invade New York and was trying to sabotage it!!” (which I strongly disagree with), but this meta pushes the real reasoning more into the territory of “Loki was doing what he thought he needed to, but deep down he was apathetic about the whole thing.”

👑

[mead-iocre]

Call Me ‘Love’ | Leah Williamson x Reader

There’s a new viral trend on TikTok. 

It’s pretty simple. Not a dance trend or a catchy song to lip-sync to.

All you have to do is film your partner’s reaction to you calling them by their real name. It often makes for some funny reactions from the partners who found themselves falling victim to this trend.

Perhaps for some couples, this wouldn’t elicit much of a reaction, but you knew your girlfriend well enough to anticipate that her reaction would likely make it worth trying the trend.

Outside of your families, friends and teammates, Leah was what most people would probably describe as…professional. She had captained her national team into winning the euros not too long ago, and as a result, the increase in media attention and scrutiny made her more conscious of the kind of person she portrayed herself to be in front of the media. 

On the pitch she was every bit a captain— a true leader. She’s has determination, grit, and a competitive drive that can pull the team together until the final whistle. Leah was very vocal on the pitch and unafraid to call out the referees for bad calls. She’ll get right up to their faces and stand her ground. Fans often joke online that they can hear her shouting from the stands. 

To add to that, she was a damn good player too. Leah is a crucial player to her team for both club and country. She’s fluid on the pitch, and her confidence in her skills is reflected in the way she plays. She’ll make risky but clean tackles, she can whip a wicked long ball, and she can score the odd goal when the opportunity lands on her head. Her confidence and skills can often leave people unnerved or in awe– depending on who you ask. 

It doesn’t help that while your girlfriend has a pretty face, she can also look quite intimidating at times. Furrowed eyebrows, lips pressed together in a tight line, and blue eyes darker than usual— all this combined is what you lovingly refer to as her classic “Captain Williamson face”.

The increased media attention has made the defender slightly more closed off during captain duties. Gone was the goofy, smart-mouth girl who was more than happy to yap at the cameras during media day. Nowadays, she may come across as slightly aloof and distant at times 

but that was only for the cameras. 

With you, Leah was still the same girl you fell in love with. The girl with a wicked sense of humour and a dirty mouth that went along with it. When she was around familiar company, the girl often made the most outrageous remarks— with jokes and quips that should not be repeated around those who can’t understand her sense of humour. 

Another surprising thing about the Arsenal defender and England captain— she can get pretty clingy. Physical affection is one of your girlfriend’s love languages and you are always more than happy to indulge her whenever. Your mornings together start with kisses, and your day ends with kisses. The blonde always needs to be touching you at all times whenever you are around— a hand on the hip, an arm over your shoulder, or a head on your lap. The intimidating captain they see on the pitch is definitely not the same girl that whines whenever you accidentally forget to give her a kiss before she leaves for training. 

Even though she might try and deny it, your girlfriend was a romantic. She loved planning dates, wearing matching clothes, and the cheesy nicknames.

And that’s why you were so excited to try out this new TikTok trend on her. 

——————————————

You situate your phone on the dinning table, fiddling around to make sure it is slightly hidden from view. You have it leaning against a vase which holds a charming bunch of tulips that the blonde had bought for you the other day. The back camera of your phone is pointed towards where your girlfriend usually sits during meals right across from you. The other decorative vase is what will hide your phone from the blonde, but is deliberately placed at an angle so your phone’s camera can still capture her reaction.

You glance at it one more time, making sure the record button is on. 

“Did you want extra parmesan on yours, baby?” You hear your girlfriend shout from the kitchen. 

“Yes, please!” 

You hear a “coming right up, madam!” before you hear the sound of a drawer being pulled open and then shut.

She’s probably grabbed the cheese grater. 

Soon the smell of savoury aromas reach you. You detect the earthy fragrance of garlic first. Then it’s the smell of onions sautéd in olive oil, mingling with the sweet aroma of ripe tomatoes. The scent of freshly chopped herbs— probably basil and oregano— adds a refreshing note in the air, while the unmistakable aroma of Parmesan cheese grating fills the air with a hint of nuttiness. It’s a familiar and comforting aroma simply because it’s the smell of the one and only dish that your girlfriend can successfully cook without setting the kitchen on fire. Not a moment later, Leah appears with a plate on each hand and a grin on her pretty face. 

And a smudge of red pasta sauce on her shirt. 

Mean, scary captain, my ass. 

Dressed in an oversized white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, grey Nike sweatpants, and her favourite fuzzy house slippers; your girlfriend is the least intimidating person in the world right now. 

She walks the short distance to your spot at the dinning table, placing a plate down in front of you. You eye the dish in front of you— the only recipe perfected by your girlfriend. The blonde can’t make scrambled eggs right— they will either be too soggy or practically burnt— but she can make the dish that has become a comfort food of sorts since you started dating her. 

You hear a throat clear from beside you.  Leah is still standing, her other hand still holding her own plate. “Doesn’t the chef get a kiss?” 

“Uhh— I don’t think my girlfriend would like that” You grin up at her. With her blonde hair tied in a loose low bun, she looks a lot more relaxed then when she first came home earlier after training.

“Baby, give me a kiss before I burn my fingers off from holding this hot plate” 

You roll your eyes playfully, before squealing at the ticklish poke given to your side. 

“Oi! Don’t act like it’s a chore to give your girlfriend a kiss when she rightfully deserves it”

You stand up from your seat slightly, reaching up to grab the side of the blonde’s neck to pull her closer and press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Thank you for dinner, chef” 

The smile that spreads across Leah’s face is one you would like to bottle up and keep close forever. 

“Pleasure is all mine, madam” And then her lips meet yours again, this time with a lingering bite on your lower lip just before she pulls back. 

You almost forget about the video.

Once the defender was seated in her own chair, you both dug into your dinner. 

“…how is it?” It’s sometimes still striking to you that England’s fierce defender is the same shy girl in front of you, just waiting for you to compliment her on her cooking. 

“That’s bloody delicious that!” You raise a hand up for a high-five and your girlfriend’s palm meets yours in a satisfying smack. Before she call pull her hand away, you grab hold of it, giving it a loud kiss. The bashful giggle that comes out from the blonde almost makes you regret the prank you were about to pull on her. 

Almost. 

You decided to let the blonde get a few bites of her dinner, not wanting to start too early otherwise she will figure out that something was up. But now it was time. 

You bring your napkin up to wipe at your mouth to disguise the grin that was already growing on your face, mentally prepping yourself one last time. You swallow your last forkful of pasta and clear your throat to get your girlfriend’s attention. Immediately, in the middle of scoping of bite of pasta into her mouth, the blonde looks up and all her attention is on you.

“Do we still have more parmesan, Leah?” 

The look she gave you was almost comical. Her mouth immediately drops into a small frown and her eyebrows furrow, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. You itch to remind her not to frown but you cannot break character now. 

She swallows her mouthful, a frown still present on her face. “What?” 

“I said I want more parmesan—“ 

The arsenal defender picks up her napkin, wiping at her mouth, before balling it in her fist and dropping it by her plate. You nearly smile at the sight. Leah is the type to always neatly fold her napkin– an endearing habit you have grown to mirror over the past couple of months of dating her. She is clearly annoyed. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry— can I pleaseee have more Parmesan, Leah” 

She narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “Don’t do that” 

“Do what?“ 

“Don’t call me Leah. You never do that” 

“Yes I do” 

“Only when you’re mad at me” That was true. You only ever called Leah by her first name when you were mad or annoyed at her. It was usually the first telltale sign that you were about to start an argument. You loved that she knew you so well and mentally reminded yourself to reward her for that later. 

“You only call me “love” or “baby”. Don’t call me Leah” You nearly laugh at how she spits her own name out at the end, as if it was a cursed word. You couldn’t wait to watch the footage back. 

“But Leah is your name” 

“Not to you”

You compose yourself, wanting to drag this prank for as long as possible, and raise an eyebrow at her. “What if I want to?” 

“No you don’t.” You almost laugh at how genuinely frazzled she looks. Hair a mess, loose strands falling out from her bun and framing the sides of her face. The slight pout on her lips contrasts the stern tone she tries to take on. 

At your eyebrow raise and your lack of verbal response, her fork clatters onto her plate. She’s serious now. “Baby, what the fuck are you on about”

But you were having too much fun to stop now. “Nothing. Now will you please go grab the Parmesan, Leah” 

“No.” The defender crosses her arms across her chest, leans back and slouches in her chair. A familiar look of determination on her face, so similar to the face she makes whenever she’s marking a difficult opponent on the pitch; however this time her opponent is you. “Not until you call me what you really call me” 

“Dickhead?” 

“Oi! Don’t be crass at the table” 

You roll your eyes for extra flair. “You’re being ridiculous—“

“Me!? You’re the one addressing your own girlfriend by her government name, mate” 

You stand up from your chair, ready to walk to the kitchen and grab the damn parmesan yourself, but you are stopped by an arm around your waist pulling you into your girlfriend’s lap. You right yourself, sitting sideways with your arm over her shoulders. 

She wraps an arm around your waist with one hand gripping your thighs to steady you. You nearly break once you look up and catch sight of the pout on the defender’s face. 

“Are you mad at me?” Her tone softens. It’s the same tone she uses whenever she’s feeling particularly clingy, so different from the tone she uses when she adorns the captain’s armband on the pitch. 

“Babyyy” When you don’t reply Leah grabs your cheeks, gently squishing them together so your lips are forced into a pout. She leans up and places a smacking kiss on your pouting lips, frowning slightly when you don’t react at all. “Hey! Are you actually mad or something? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it” 

Determined as ever, the blonde grabs your cheeks again with a hand on your jaw and pecks your lips a few times, drawing back slightly to gauge your reaction after every peck. When you once again give her nothing, an eye roll is your only warning before you feel a sudden, but very sharp, bite to the side of your neck.

“Ouch, love!”

“Aha! I’ve got ya!” You bring a hand up to feel the stinging bite on your neck, and your fingers graze the teeth marks left by your very own girlfriend. 

“That bloody hurt!” You try to scowl at the blonde but it’s kind of hard to do when you see the big grin she’s currently sporting. You do nothing to stop your lips from curling upwards into a smile. 

“Can you please go back to calling me “love”– please” Leah pleaded, the ‘e’ whiny and prolonged. 

She’s so bloody cute. 

“Yeah. I think I’ve had my fun. Prank’s over!”

“Wha– prank?!”

You point at your phone that was still propped up against the vase, just slightly hidden from her view but now the sole focus of her attention. 

You squealed at the pinch to your waist. “Don’t ever call me Leah unless you’re mad at me. I only respond to ‘love’"

“Yeah? What about ‘Captain’?”

“Baby, you know exactly what happens when you call me ‘Captain’” You barely had time to react to her words because the next thing you know, your girlfriend has you in a fireman carry and was walking down the hallway towards your shared bedroom. You playfully attempt to wiggle out of her strong hold, and is awarded by a sharp slap to your ass to still you. 

“You know what, I think it’s time for dessert, baby”

This was supposed to be up for Valentines Day yesterday lol but I forgot to schedule it.

Even if you don't choose to celebrate Valentine's Day, I hope you had a great day yesterday. Don't forget to take advantage of the heavily discounted Valentine's Day gift sets and chocolates.

Please accept this short fic as a token of my love and appreciation for you

-- kisses (and an extra kiss because it was Valentine's Day), butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐌

tokyo rev masterlist || haikyuu version

Accidentally matching outfits x Koko

You swear it’s a coincidence when you show up to your date spot matching Koko’s outfit of the day. But then again, your boyfriend has always insisted on gifting you outfits and accessories, so is it really a surprise you mirrored his style without noticing? That still doesn’t stop your cheeks from warming when he takes your hand and leads you inside, a small smile playing around his lips.

Carrying your bags x Inui

Inui is a gentleman all around but one thing he never fails to do is carry your bags for you. Usually, he asks beforehand if he should take them from you -even though he hardly accepts ‘no’ as an answer- but if he can tell you’re struggling with the weight he’s rather adamant about it. His beautiful partner shouldn’t strain themselves and he can easily handle it, so please let him do this. (Inui also rocks carrying your purse, it might as well be his.)

Weird nicknames in each other’s contacts x Ran

It’s almost as if you’re in a secret relationship, that’s how abstruse your names for the other are. If your friend ever looks at your phone when you ask them to read out a message, you can basically hear the confusion in their voice. There’s also a pretty high chance the contact name is accompanied by a picture that’s just as unflattering, probably taken when you were taken off guard. Well, at least both of you know you’re not in it for the other’s looks.

Walking on the side of the road x Draken

Draken is your protector through and through. Not only does your knight in shining armour catch bugs for you without a fuss and order your food as well if you’re too shy to, he also always makes sure to walk on the side of the road where the cars drive. Whenever you change streets or directions, he quickly switches to your other side, not letting your hand go for too long.  You’re not sure if it makes a difference at all but the gesture is sweet nonetheless.

Laughing ‘til your cheeks hurt x Chifuyu

Nevermind if you’re grown adults, Chifuyu and you can still be as silly as children. At times, you’re literally the most unserious pair ever, giggling and holding your stomachs because of a stupid pun one of you told. Sitting at home on a night in, wiping the tears from your eyes and holding your hurting cheeks as you gasp for air, just to start laughing again when you remember the situation five minutes later.

Flour fight during a baking session x Mitsuya

Neither of you are about wasting food, just making that clear. But when you’re standing side by side in front of the kitchen counter, the oven preheating in the background and Mitsuya rolling the dough to then press into your cake form, you just can’t help yourself. Some leftover from the filling you prepared sticks to your hand and before you know it, you’re wiping it against your boyfriend’s cheek, giggling as you go. But Mitsuya only looks shocked for a second before he grins and wraps his flour-covered hands around your waist before you can get away.

Waking up tangled together x Rindou

It’s a calm night in, the take-out boxes still sitting on the coffee table in front of you as you snuggle in the corner of the couch, not really paying attention to the film anymore. And neither is Rindou, judging by how he yawns from the other side of the couch, his legs crossing with yours as he sinks deeper into the cushions. By the time both of you wake up again, your respective spaces of the couch have been abandoned in order to tangle yourself together bretzel-style, with your cheek squished against his biceps and his hand somewhere under the back of your shirt. 

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[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 17

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: does anyone mind the slightly longer chapters? I feel like I keep accidentally adding scenes in and I’m not sure if it’s too much? Anyway, regardless of length, I hope you enjoy! 🧡💛

word count: 8,024

-Part 16- -Part 18-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Was that necessary, Mor?” 

Neatly groomed brows narrow over hard amber eyes, stood at the edge of the room, still cast in shadow before walking to be stood closer to the bed that’s been pushed so it’s beside the open window. 

“Stay out of it, Az,” Mor murmurs, arms folded over her chest, eyes cast downwards. “You should be focusing on getting better.” 

Azriel is quiet for a bit, his gaze weighing on her but she makes no move to look at him, a hint of anguish in her normally bright expression. He sighs, shifting against the pillows as he glances out the window, inclining his head a little as a light breeze washes over him, sending silky strands of hair fluttering up from his brow. 

“You know she didn’t do it to hurt you,” he says, watching as the clouds shift in composition in the sky, small dots flying in the distance as they arc and dip with the winds. Hazel eyes flick back across the room, but Mor’s head is still lowered, her expression resentful. “You know you were being cruel.” 

“And you’re in a position to criticise me?” Mor replies quietly, hard amber piercing into him. “You’re the reason this became such a mess. You should have said something. There’s no way you couldn’t have noticed.” 

“I made a mistake,” he concedes reluctantly, holding her gaze. 

“You made more than a mistake, Az. Now we’re all hurting because you—”

“Mor,” Azriel interrupts. She stiffens but doesn’t yield, that look of reproach returning to her expression. “You can’t lash out at us whenever you hurt,” he says thickly, still watching her. Silence stretches between them, centuries worth of history pulled taut in the quiet. 

“What does Rhys think?” Mor diverts, successfully switching subjects. Azriel sighs, leaning back into the pillow, “about which part?” Mor’s brows narrow a little, “all of it, I suppose.” Azriel’s jaw works, glancing briefly out the window again to peer up into the sky, the winds calling to him and his wings move subtly at his back, repositioning themselves against the large stack of cushions placed to prop him up. 

“He’s furious that it got this far,” he replies, features carefully neutral as he answers the question. Amber eyes observe, offered insight through those years of friendship that others might struggle to pick out—the guilt he feels for failing. Not just her, or Mor, but Rhys and Feyre. For inadvertently allowing a situation to unfold where his brother would be forced to remember those months…years of grief after his family was slaughtered. After his sister was murdered. The whole situation is dredging up unwelcome memories, for all of them. They can’t let another one be lost. 

“He wants to know how Eris even got to her in the first place,” Azriel admits, glancing warily at Mor to gauge her reaction. “You don’t know?” She asks, pushing past the tightness in her throat at the mere mention. But the Shadowsinger shakes his head. “There wasn’t really time to ask,” he supplies quietly. She wasn’t really even in the right mindset to be asked. 

“What about Cassian?” Mor queries, but Azriel shakes his head. 

“You know I won’t tell you.” Because to know Cassian’s thoughts on the matter would likely be to know Nesta’s, and that isn’t the kind of emotional intimacy any of them would be comfortable with. It’s strange how emotions intermingle like that, how swiftly things can complicate themselves when new figures are added to the equation. 

A beat passes, then Mor’s shifting on her feet. “You know, there was a time when we shared everything between us. Wasn’t that easier?” She asks neutrally. 

“Mor,” Azriel warns lowly, causing Mor’s upper lit to curl slightly. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Az,” she mutters, resting her full attention on the injured male. “Don’t act like you’re completely blameless.” 

“Assigning blame won’t fix anything,” he replies shortly, hazel eyes losing a little of their softness. “I’m sure that narrative suits you well,” Mor counters sharply. “I think you’re glad that I said those things to her so that you have a chance to redeem yourself by condemning me. You’re the one who started this whole mess, so—”

“Mor.”

“Shut up, Az,” Mor hisses, warmth vanishing from her face, eyes hardening as shields rise. “Don’t you dare try and twist what happened. You made mistake after mistake because you were too busy chasing Elain, and too busy ignoring what you didn’t want to acknowledge by hiding behind your work instead. At least I had a damn reason. What was yours?” 

Azriel gives nothing away, his expression cold and blank. 

“I tried to help her, I reached out my hand and offered her a chance. And she repaid that by going to Eris,” Mor hisses, unable to help the stark pain that bleeds into her fury. “She could have come to any of us. It’s more than we ever had, and yet she ignored it. Then tries to pretend it away? I’m not immune to that. If she can’t even be bothered to care about my pain why should I give a damn about hers?” Mor breathes, eyes feeling hot as the words gush out. “It is nothing compared to what we endured.” 

————

You manage a small smile as Madja enters your room, Elain closing the door behind her as she takes a seat at your bedside. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks as she settles in the chair provided for these visits, a kind look on her face that you know you should be grateful for, but it’s difficult to summon anything when you know she can’t do anything. All this is, is documentation. An observation to see what happens to you. Because it’s undeniable something is happening. 

You swallow thickly, but nod your head. “Good, for the most part,” you answer, truthfully. “I’m still feeling generally fatigued, but I wouldn’t say it’s particularly interfering with my day? I’ve had some pains in my stomach and back though, but I think they’re just…you know…” Madja raises her brows in question, silently asking you to continue. Heat rises beneath your skin and you avert your gaze, hands wringing together beneath the duvet. 

“Would it be more helpful if it were just the two of you?” Elain suggests carefully, and teeth push into your lower lip. Then you give a small dip of your head, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. But she doesn’t seem to mind, telling you’ll she be a few rooms over, and will return once the examination is done. Madja looks patiently at you, a kind expression on her features that soothes you slightly. She’s a healer, surely she’ll have seen and heard worse… 

You clear your throat, peering into your lap to avoid looking at her. “I think they might just be…” you trail off, glancing at her then gesturing vaguely to your stomach, hand hovering over your abdomen. There’s nothing impatient in her smile as she speaks, “your cycle?” You snap your eyes away, a flush of mortification rising to your skin, shoulders tightening as you stare into your lap but force yourself to nod. 

“It’s perfectly fine to speak about that with me,” Madja says gently, “it’s a normal occurrence with females, there’s no need to be embarrassed about your own body. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You nod again, just to try and appease her, but in truth you’re desperate to escape the subject. “I’m sorry, I just— I find it hard to believe you aren’t…uncomfortable, discussing such topics.” 

“Well, I’ve been a healer for most of my centuries in this realm,” she says calmly, and you can imagine that kind expression on her features, peaceful and infinitely patient. “I’ve worked during both wars, not to mention helping with your sister’s pregnancy. There’s very little that could ever cause me discomfort in regards to how the body works, so you don’t have to concern yourself.” 

You shift again in the bed, but manage to nod your head. Madja seems to be satisfied with the response, smile broadening, and a slight bit of tension is relieved from your shoulders, breath easing into your lungs. “So you’ve been experiencing some abdominal and back pain?” She questions, and you nod again, feeling a little useless. “Can you describe it to me?” She asks, and you swallow thickly. “I…it’s like a dull ache in my back, near the base of my spine but a bit to the right. Then it’s quite sharp in my…abdomen. It doesn’t happen often, but I thought I should mention it…” 

“I don’t think you should be experiencing any pain at all,” Madja replies. “And may I ask when you’re next due for your cycle?” You look away briefly before again meeting her gaze—nothing to be embarrassed about, she’d assured. “In about three months,” you answer quietly. 

Madja nods in approval, and you begin to relax back into the pillows. “And have you noticed any bleeding at all?” She asks gently, and you freeze in the bed. 

“No,” you answer hurriedly, without thinking, “no. Not from— No.” 

“Alright,” she smiles calmingly, “anywhere else? You have some scabs on your hands, isn’t that right?” Your throat rolls but you nod, releasing your tight grip on your nightgown, bringing yourself to raise them from beneath the duvet so she can examine them. “And these bumps,” she inquires, “can you tell me how long those have been there for?” You blink, trying to remember—they’ve been there for months it feels like, but it can’t have been that long, can it? How long has it been since you first told Azriel?

“I think…” you hesitate, unsure of yourself, “maybe a month? Two? They don’t hurt, but they do sometimes…bleed.” 

“Okay, would you mind if I had a look at them?” She requests, and you silently offer her your hands for her to take. That tingling warmth feathers beneath your skin, as if the flesh has fallen asleep, and you watch curiously as she probes along your knuckles, examining your palms, grazing your wrists. “And may I look at the area you experienced the pain in?” She asks, and you stiffen but nod. It’ll be the same thing as last time, you hope, and that wasn’t too bad since she had managed to work through the fabric of your night gown. The duvet is rolled back and you sit straighter in the cushions so she’ll have better access. 

“Can you point out where exactly you were feeling the pain?” She requests, and you gesture to a horizontal strip of skin below your middle. “It was the sharpest here,” you answer, “but I sometimes get a small ache further to the left or right.” Madja doesn’t reply, her expression showing concentration as she moves her hands across your stomach, gently pushing at the parts you’d mentioned as that warmth settles pleasantly into you. You can’t help as your attention drifts to your own hands, how flaky and lumpy they are in comparison to her tender set. It’s so dry, small scabs where blood had leaked from…you wish at least the bleeding didn’t happen. So many pairs of gloves you have to wash repeatedly to make sure there aren’t any stains. 

It’s become such a normal part of your life it had slipped your mind that pain shouldn’t be a normal part of it, nor the bleeding. 

The bleeding… 

A cold feeling washes over you, like you’ve had ice tipped down your spine as you remember the scare you’d experienced in the Autumn Court. 

If Madja notices how you’ve frozen, she doesn’t mention it, but a slow feeling of slippery dread unspools in your stomach as you recall the blood you’d noticed when visiting the washroom one morning. You’d thought it was your cycle—the slight pains had added up and the night sweats had made sense—but then nothing had happened and you’d forgotten about that blood. 

Nausea churns in your stomach, a district feeling over lightheadedness overcoming you and you force the calm breaths into your lungs…deep, and steady. You choke on saliva and your palm flies over your mouth as you twist your head to the side, coughing. 

Madja glances up at you, brows slightly pulled together from concentration. “Have some water—are you remembering to keep yourself hydrated throughout the day?” She asks, handing you the glass that rests by your bedside table. “For the most part,” you answer after taking a few sips. Madja pauses briefly, a look of consideration passing behind her eyes before speaking, “would you mind if I checked your lungs? It’s likely nothing, but might as well be sure since I’m here, don’t you agree?” 

You blink at her, looking slightly perplexed but you suppose there’s no harm in it, so you nod your confirmation, handing her back the glass before settling into the cushion. That familiar warmth tingles in your skin as she tentatively lays her fingers just below your collar bones before pressing down a little firmer and making her way from one side to the other. Her features remain set in an expression of concentration and she returns to the tops of your sternum before going a little lower. You tense, but understand she’s performing a medical examination. 

“Can you sit upright a little more? I’d like to search a little lower, just by your ribs,” she adds, seeing your startled expression. You nod, understanding, sitting more upright independent of the cushions. “Now if you can raise your arm?” She requests gently and again you follow, raising your left arm so she has access to the side of your ribs. The tingling sensation returns and you think you can feel as it searches through your body, though it doesn’t feel invasive like you had expected. 

Madja’s fingers pause, before she’s pressing noticeably firmer and you have to steady yourself so she does upset your balance. The sensation becomes more acute, able to feel as the tingling feeling concentrates near the middle left of your lower ribcage. When she retracts her hands she looks a little confused. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask nervously, uneasy by her expression. 

“There’s what feels like a small lump connected to the tissue of your left lung,” Madja explains calmly, and you nod your head. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to try and purge it. I haven’t seen it in any other patients, and there’s no reason for it to be there—it isn’t a natural part of your body. Would that be okay?” 

You nod your head—if she’s found something wrong with you, that sounds promising…? And if she thinks she can…purge it, that seems even better. 

“Alright, if you lean back into the bed to keep your upper body relaxed that would be perfect,” she guides and you settle down. “Okay, I’m going to apply my magic to the growth. You might feel a sudden heat or a ticklish sensation but if you can avoid coughing that would be helpful,” she explains, and tension rises in your chest as she again puts her hands against the side of your ribcage.  

Sure enough, a sharp heat fills a spot on your lung, and you press your lips together to prevent from coughing or inhaling suddenly despite the abrupt tickle that’s manifested in your throat, an intense itchiness in your lungs…an itchiness growing in the tips of your fingers…growing hotter…and hotter…beginning to burn, and… 

Madja pulls away, a gentle smile on her face, “all done. You did well not to start coughing in the middle there, it helped make the process much easier for me.” 

“So, it’s gone?” You ask perplexedly, hand gingerly rising to press into your ribs, testing as you inhale. Sure enough, the tickling feeling has gone, and so has the tightness in your throat, suddenly feeling much clearer. Like when you’d had a cold as a human, feeling the distinct relief once you were able to breathe freely again, having to become reliant on inhaling via your mouth rather than nose. One never appreciates how seamlessly their body works until it’s compromised.

Madja smiles, “it’s gone.” 

A hesitant smile makes its way across your mouth, peering down to where you hand is settled. 

Maybe it isn’t as bad as you’d been telling yourself. 

————

Golden eyes gleam from within the home, the scent of rosemary so familiar emotion swells in your chest. 

“Hey, Bas.” 

He pauses briefly, and you hesitate, waiting to see what he’ll do. Then he’s shifting in the doorway, opening it wider cautiously as he take you in, taking up most of the entryway. “You’re back…” he greets, but the note of caution in his voice has you hesitating again. But you push a small smile to your mouth, remembering yourself. “I’m back,” you agree, nodding your head slightly, “how… How have you been? Everything okay?” 

Bas is silent, simply watching you with an indistinguishable look and you resist the urge to move beneath his attention, instead waiting it out, wondering what he’s thinking. 

“Where were you?” He asks, catching you a little off-guard with the question. You hadn’t really considered he might question where you went. “I was… I visited another Court. Temporarily. Just to see more of the world, I guess…” You peer up at him—he isn’t moving from the doorway, remaining blocking it instead of inviting you in like you’d anticipated. Things feel strange, to how you remember them. “Is everything…okay?” You hedge. 

“Is everything okay?” He repeats softly, as if to himself. His golden eyes regain awareness, pupils tightening as they look at you. “Why don’t you tell me?” 

It’s enough to have you faltering, temporary confidence stumbling as you peer up at him questioningly. “I…what do you mean?” You ask, unsure what he’s asking after. 

“I mean, why did you disappear like that, huh? You just— went. Without telling me where, without telling anyone where, apparently. Do you know how dangerous Prythian can be? Especially for someone like you, and you just decided to leave? What were you thinking?” Bas asks, his patience steadily slipping as he speaks, thoughts pouring from his lips. “Someone like me?” You repeat faintly, pinning him with a look, “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re smart. Not strong,” he answers succinctly, but bluntly, “you should know what sort of creatures are out there.” 

“That didn’t seem to bother you the night I left,” you counter, a note of disbelief in your voice. 

“Because you’re smart,” he repeats as if it’s obvious. “You’re smart, so I assumed you’d make a smart choice. Not just go out into Prythian on a whim. You don’t even know how to fight. Do you understand what could have happened to you?” 

“Bas, I’m fine,” you reassure, trying to understand his temper is coming from a place of concern. “I…I went to meet someone. I didn’t just go out into the wilderness, you don’t need to worry,” you explain, knowing it’s best to keep the details vague. 

“You know your family came to visit, right?” He asks, again catching you off guard as you stare at him. “No,” you answer, quietly, “I didn’t. Who—… What happened…?” Bas shifts in the doorway, settling to lean against the threshold of the entrance, and a small grain of relief passes through you at the distinctly familiar gesture. “Azriel visited first, and I told him he wouldn’t get anything out of me because I had decided to trust that you knew what you were doing. And you know what he told me?” Bas asks harshly, shaking his head and not waiting for reply. “He told me I was interfering with Court affairs, that withholding information might result in the High Lord personally questioning me. And I still didn’t tell him anything.” 

“I…I’m sorry, Bas,” you manage, guilt at last beginning to rise in your chest, head lowering slightly. “I’m…thank you. For trusting me.” 

“I’m not done,” Bas says quietly, but firmly, causing you to glance up at him questioningly. “He came back, that time with Mor.” There’s no way for you to conceal the pain and conflict that passes through your expression. Even if you could, even if you knew how to hide your emotions like that, you have the distinct impression he knows you well enough he’d be able to see through it, and the thought is surprisingly uncomfortable for you. Knowing someone so well they could see through your lies…that kind of vulnerability… 

“She was the one who convinced me to admit I had no idea where you’d gone. She was clearly worried, and I had to look at her and tell her how you hadn’t trusted me enough to say where you’d be going, but that I had decided to trust you enough that I’d been fine not knowing.” His voice has lowered, becoming rougher, and your shoulder slope with shame. “Can you understand that? To realise you’ve been deceived by someone you cared for like that? To admit that to people who had been smart enough to know better?” 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, raising your eyes to meet his, gloved hands wringing together. “I didn’t mean for it to seem like I didn’t trust you. I do.” 

“Then where were you?” 

You raise your head to look at him, then. Heart sinking because—you can’t tell him. You’re in enough trouble as it is, with Rhys, with Mor, with Azriel. Probably with your sisters too, they just haven’t shown it yet. You can’t cause more problems. More problems for them is more consequences for you, and you have a long list of things to make up for. Dauntingly long. Almost unbearably… “Bas…I…” 

“Can’t tell me?” He finishes, his tone telling you it’s exactly what he anticipated. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say softly, holding his gaze imploringly. “You know I trust you. That I’ve told you things I could never—… That I could never tell anyone else…” 

“Then why can’t you tell me, huh?” He asks, a touch more gentle, sounding as helpless as you feel. 

“Just…I need you to…”

“Trust you?” He scoffs, shoulders jerking in an unnaturally sharp movement. 

“You’d made it sound like they didn’t care about you,” he says quietly, and you look at him wearily. “I thought you were on your own, you know.” Like me, is what he leaves out, but you can hear it clear enough. “I have my ma, and you have your sister, but beyond that I thought you had no one but me.” And I had no one but you—again, you can hear those words he’s not saying. “That we were going to be there for each other because we understood what it was like. But they care for you.” A strange sense of shame settles heavily on your shoulders, and your head lowers, but you don’t look away. 

“It was obvious,” he murmurs, his brows curving almost imperceptibly, a kernel of pain passing behind sharp golden eyes. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing up from the doorframe and you watch silently as he begins to draw the conversation to a close. “I won’t begrudge you of that. I’m glad you have people. Family. But I…” You lied. 

“I don’t—” You say abruptly, rushing into speech, hurting without thought, just needing to explain yourself, even if it opens up something you aren’t ready for. “They don’t,” you breathe. “I—… It might look like they do, you might know they do. Maybe they really, actually do.” You stare up at him, feeling that emptiness lethargically blink itself awake, mouth yawning open in preparation to begin swallowing you down again. Pulling you into that inescapable state of overwhelming darkness. “But I can’t believe it,” you whisper, feeling as your eyes fill with wetness, and something hot spills down your cheek, another following when you blink to clear it away. “I can’t…” you breathe, trailing off. “It doesn’t matter what happens, Bas. I just—…I can’t believe it.” 

“And I should believe you?” He asks quietly. 

You stare at him helplessly. There’s nothing else you can say. You’ve tried to convince him, you’ve been as honest as you can physically tolerate, and it…it just isn’t enough. You aren’t enough. 

Your heart doesn’t plummet like you’ve learned to anticipate. Instead a vague feeling of disappointment calmly soothes your skin, glum pessimism setting in as the high emotions fade into watery greys. Desaturated, and bearable. 

“I don’t know what else to say,” you tell him quietly. 

“Just tell me the truth,” Bas asks, golden eyes showing his hurt. Another case of betrayal you’ve brought upon yourself. 

Would it be unfair to ask his forgiveness? 

“I’m sorry,” you give as your answer. There’s nothing else you can say. 

Bas’ eyes dull slightly, and you understand how you’ve let him down. 

His jaw works, looking away briefly before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.” 

—���——

The wind breezes through you as you walk along the cobbles, the sun long since dipped down beneath the horizon, leaving a chill in the air that manages to sink through the silky orange material of your scarf. 

You can’t bring yourself to try and tackle the emotional conflict with Bas yet. You’re drained, and tired from the past months—maybe longer—and you don’t want to put yourself through more self-inflicted sadness. If you really need to release some bottled up emotion, you know you’ll have no choice in escaping it. If you have the option to keep yourself from hurt, you’ll take it. At least for the moment. 

Bas had said he’d see you later—you have to trust him. As a friend, as someone who’s been there for you, and you for him—you have to believe you’ll be able to fix this. There’s good in the world, Feyre had told you, you just have to trust that you’ll find it. Even if it’s seemingly alluded you until now, in the moments you’ve needed it most. 

A silhouette seems familiar in your peripherals, a distinctly fae sense recognising the shape, or…something, of the figure, and you glance over. 

Cassian raises his hand in greeting, his expression clear and untroubled as he walks over to where you’ve paused, wings kept neatly tucked at his back to keep them from bumping into things. “You know, I’ve been told you’re supposed to be staying in bed,” he greets in his deep voice, tone similar to one someone would use when catching another doing something they aren’t supposed to, but considering joining in anyway. It’s very him, in a way. 

“I…” you begin, about to mention Bas, but then decide otherwise. “I’m feeling okay today. I thought a walk might be nice. Fresh air’s supposed to be good for you, right?” You ask lightly, volume low. Cassian’s quiet for a beat, unnervingly sharp hazel eyes weighing into you calmly. Then he sighs, shrugging his shoulders a little before shifting on his feet, making to turn around, to lead you somewhere. “I suppose I can’t fault you for keeping things to yourself.”

You watch as he turns, obviously expecting you to go with him, but the moment caught you off guard. “…keeping things to myself…?” You hedge, managing to get your feet moving to walk a little behind him, not particularly wanting to go with him but knowing it would be unreasonable to turn away. Especially after all the trouble you’ve caused—like having such poor control of your—

You halt abruptly, staring up to the cliff-face that contains the House of Wind. Sure enough, even from so far below, you can spot the large break in the rock-face, able to pick out what had been your bedroom, and the sides of the rooms either side of it. You feel as the blood drains from your face, shock icing your body as you’re unable to look away—you caused that. “Something wrong?” Cassian asks, calling back to you a few steps away. 

Words have left you, unable to figure out what to say, mind struggling to wrap around all of it. Another thing to make up for, and that one’s pretty big, too…your shoulders slope as you stare at the hole blown out of the rock. The damage you’ve probably caused the interior too… How much will it take to repair that? Isn’t the building itself old? Even to fae standards? 

How can you ever make up for something like that? 

Cassian walks back over to you when you don’t reply, pausing at your side, hands on his hips as he follows the direction of your gaze. “Pretty impressive,” he says conversationally, “you’ve got a way to go before you can manage an entire building, though.” Then he pats you lightly on the shoulder, wing curving round your body to get your legs moving as you’re pulled away, view with the House broken. 

“I—…” you choke out, “did…did I do that?” You manage hoarsely, looking up at him as your feet start moving one in front of the other, subconsciously wary of bumping into his wing. “Sure did. Blew right through that noise cancelling ward Feyre put up,” Cassian answers, keeping his attention ahead as he leads you through the city streets, people automatically making way for the familiar face. “I told her she’d been slacking off in practising her magic,” he murmurs under his breath, but you aren’t paying much attention, too overwhelmed with debt to really engage. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, feet hesitating as they move over the cobbles before stopping firmly, shoulders bunched as you glance up at him. “I’m so— I didn’t mean to make such a mess— I just— I just didn’t— I didn’t know what to do. And I thought he was going to—”

“It’s okay,” Cassian says firmly, standing in front of you so there are less places to look away to. “It’s Rhys’ anyway. You don’t need to apologise to me.” 

“But…it was given to you,” you hedge, staring up at him—and if it’s still Rhys’, that’s so much worse. So, so much damage. 

“Would you feel better if someone was angry with you?” He asks seriously after a moment of pause. You freeze, startled by the question. “…what?” 

“Would it make it easier?” He repeats, watching you solemnly, “if we acted how you’re waiting for us to?” 

You stare at him, struggling to pull together a reply, startled from the strange clarity of his questions. Seconds pass and all you can do is look at him, too afraid to answer—not of him, but…something. 

Cassian breaks the connection, glancing away, half turning his body to face the direction you’d been walking. “Maybe that question was too much,” he says, almost to himself. He sighs, eyes closing briefly, before he’s glancing at you, wing opening as if to guide you along again. “Come on,” he says, voice having lost that solemnity, back to the familiar timbre, “we’ll be late.” 

“Late?” You manage as you somehow get your body to fall into step beside him. “What…where are we going?” 

He looks at you strangely, as if the answer’s obvious. “Dinner, of course,” he replies, returning his attention to the streets ahead, sure enough taking the path that will lead directly back to the River House. “They’ll start without us if we aren’t there on time.” 

“Dinner?” You ask, feeling lightheaded. Too many new components being dropped on you for you to entirely keep yourself together. You swallow thickly, fumbling for excuses because you can’t do a dinner as you are—not after yesterday. “I’m not feeling too great, actually,” you say hoarsely, “besides, if I eat this late I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it…” you trail off, realising he probably doesn’t want to hear about you throwing up meals every now and again. 

“Madja’s told us you need to keep your strength up,” Cassian replies, and you’re unsure if he’s intentionally chosen a counter-argument you’d have trouble escaping or whether it was  inadvertent. “Eat what you can—it’s important during recovery, even if it might feel insignificant, or pointless.” You glance at him again, that strange feeling creeping into your chest at his wording—is it some kind of intuition that’s leading him to say these things? 

“…Will everyone be there?” You ask quietly, trying to calm yourself as the River House comes into view, not far away now. “Az will probably want to eat in his room,” Cassian answers neutrally after a temporary pause, “but everyone else will. You’ll be sitting besides Elain.” There was no reason to add that on. 

You can’t manage it, but you can’t figure a way to escape. There’s no out you can find—saying you aren’t hungry, or you’re tired won’t get you out of it, he’s already said to just eat what you can meaning you have to have at least a bite or two. But the idea of sitting with all of them, when everything is still so unclear…You can’t. 

The River House looms before you, and you can swear you feel a cold sweat appear on your back, hands turning unnaturally clammy, so accustomed to the skin being dry and flaky that to feel the dampness on your palms has slippery discomfort roiling in your stomach. 

Cassian walks up the steps, hand settling on the door, and you watch in motion slower than usual as he begins to turn the handle.  

A slight breeze blows, pulling strands of your hair forward, as if trying to push you into the House, and Cassian pauses, door opened only a few inches. Beats pass, but you keep utterly still, both wanting the moment to end but also desiring nothing more than to run from the oncoming meal. 

Strangely observant hazel eyes flick over a broad shoulder, meeting your own set and you tense, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, getting that same feeling you’d had when speaking with Rhys, that he can somehow see through you too clearly, like you’re too easy to read. Fearing what he’ll be able to find before you’ve had the chance to discover it. Watching you fumble in the dark for something that was so easy to locate. Struggling with a problem embarrassingly simple to decipher. 

“You don’t need to be scared,” he says, holding your gaze. Are you really that easy to see through? But then he continues, and the surrounding world warps a little. 

“You have a right to be at that table as much as any of us,” he says, those keen hazel eyes remaining steady. “Keep that in mind, when you go in.” 

Then the door’s opening wider, and the smell of a hot meal wafts out into the night. You trail behind him, latch clicking at your back, following as he makes his way to the dining room. He had believed the words he’d told you, that you were deserving of a seat at their table. You can’t really bring yourself to believe it, but his sincerity has shaken your ground a little. 

His expression shifts when he rounds a corner, brows rising as his lips part in a broad smile, voices rising in greeting and you can see why Feyre treasures his company. He’s surprisingly gentle, oddly perceptive. 

They probably all already knew that, though. It’s your fault for casting roles on them before really even getting to know them, assigning characters after only a handful of proper conversations. If only you’d made the effort to step out of your own little circle, maybe the circumference wouldn’t be as strangling as it’s become. 

If you’d stepped out sooner, could you have been first choice? 

But, glancing again at Cassian, his profile captured in a look between irritation and affection, turning the corner into the dining room and seeing the scrunch of Feyre’s brow as she replies to whatever he’d said…no. It wouldn’t have mattered. 

But it’s not the end of the world that you weren’t made that way. 

————

It’s good to see her smiling again, he thinks. 

With the past months having been so draining, the symptoms of her restlessness only exacerbated in the last few days given the turmoil they’ve all been thrown into, it’s good to see the light in her eyes gleaming again. More than just good, but there isn’t quite a word right enough to express the soul-deep relief he feels at seeing her smile. A strange conviction that everything will be okay now that she’s on the way better. 

Her ears twitch once before she’s shooting him a half-glare, having felt his gaze roaming over her. “Family dinner, Rhys,” she snaps under her breath, but he can see the heat in her eyes, the silent agreement that’s exchanged in the brief moments their gaze locks, and Rhys’ mouth curves suggestively, his brows rising in feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs, looking down at his mate with an intensity he knows she adores. And yet she lightly smacks his thigh anyway. 

“I’m serious,” Feyre warns, that heat dissipating as Cassian picks a seat at the table, dragging the feet across the floorboards with a grating noise that’s thankfully drowned out by chatter while a smaller figure quietly follows after him, taking one of the two remaining open seats. Unlike Cassian, she lifts her chosen seat from the floor, trying to keep as silent as possible and blend into the background as she sits beside Elain. “Don’t scare her off,” Feyre murmurs under her breath. Rhys hums compliantly, eyes twinkling as he spends a few extra moments looking at his mate. Moments he thinks he might at long last be beginning to lean into.

“Where’s Mor?” Cassian interrupts, and Rhys reluctantly shifts his attention to his brother, who has taken the seat opposite Feyre. He sometimes wonders if Cassian choses moves like this intentionally, whether they’re conscious decisions or whether these actions result from a wish to have his family united. Cassian isn’t like himself or Az, wasn’t taught to conceal his emotions as they were—well, in his own case it was taught. For Az it was a matter of survival. 

“Taking supper up to Az,” Nesta’s voice cuts through the previously enjoyable atmosphere, the noise similar to recognising the hiss of steel being drawn within a temple. A few centuries ago, his ears might have twitched at the distinctly unpleasant intrusion, but Cassian’s eyes have already left his own to seek out the icy silver of his mate’s, softened at their edges. 

“More than just supper,” Amren comments, one space over to Rhys’ right, sat at a corner seat. “She took an entire bottle of wine with her.” Laughter rises, and Rhys allows his attention to briefly sweep over across the table where the two sisters are involved in conversation, as if there’s no one else to speak with. He supposes one of them might very well believe that, and with a fraction of a thought swiftly removes the precautionary enchantment of the silverware so they won’t vanish if she reaches for them. 

At least she’s there, though he’s fairly confident Cassian has something to do with it. Rhys can picture how the light in Feyre’s eyes might flicker learning she had found a way to shut herself away in a house where avoiding others was almost impossible without intent. No amount of luck or coincidence would keep her entirely hidden. Especially over meals. 

Violet eyes return to his left, feeling the familiar ease that settles through him at the reminder of Feyre’s presence. A deeply-treasured reprieve from the strain and stress that’s been thriving amongst them as of late. 

————

“How was the check-up with Madja, by the way?” Elain asks, using one of the large wooden spoons to shift a few roast potatoes onto her plate. 

You nod slightly, lips pressing together in a small smile that you hope is reassuring. “Good, for the most part,” you reply. “I think she still wants to observe what happens for now, but she did…do something, which might have helped?” It reminds you of the lightness in your lungs, the strange openness of your throat and you instinctively take in a deeper breath, basking in that odd clearness. Elain hums in question, silently offering you the spoon for potatoes, but you shake your head politely. “I’m not sure…I don’t think dinner is the best place to discuss those check-ups,” you say quietly, a half-smile on your mouth. Elain’s lips curve, eyes gleaming as she nods in agreement, “you’re probably right.” Then she glances across the table before returning her gaze to yours, a new, preempted question already rising to her mouth. “What are you going to eat?” 

The smile on your lips becomes strained, gloved hands shifting in your lap as you keep the orange, silk scarf pulled over your arms to conceal the wretched skin. You wish you’d at least had the chance to change before coming here—your mind will mostly be preoccupied with making sure none of them are forced to see the state beneath the silk. “If I’m honest, I’m not really that hungry…” you hedge, but Elain gives you a look that tells you she won’t stand for it. Although it comes from a place of care and love, you can’t help feeling a little suffocated. 

“Just have a couple of bites, okay?” Elain reasons gently, “Madja’s told us it’s good for you to eat, it’ll help you recover.” 

“Apparently Madja’s been saying that a lot,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Madja’s a highly respected healer,” Amren cuts in from across the table, her eyes sharp as they pierce into you. “If she’s said you should eat, you should eat.” 

You aren’t sure if you imagine the way the noise level seems to drop at that, but the familiarly dull pain of humiliation flickers across your chest, ashamed to have sounded so ungrateful. Your head lowers a little, unable to think of a reply as your hands wring together beneath the table, tucked away in your lap. 

“Unless you really feel sick,” Elain interjects a little defensively, her hand subconsciously placing itself on your upper arm in what you’re certain she intends to be a comforting gesture—in truth it causes your flesh to ache, but you keep your mouth shut. “I’m sure I can manage a bite or two,” you get out with a small smile and you hate that you know it won’t reach your eyes, so keep your head slightly ducked as you put a few potatoes on your plate. You can come down later, once everyone’s gone to bed if you’re still hungry. 

A beat passes, and Elain shifts at your side, a fresh smile on her face, trying to brighten your mood—you dip a little lower at that, that she feels responsible, but if you don’t pull yourself together she’ll keep doing it. “How did you and Cassian bump into one another?” She asks, reaching for something else on the table that you don’t look at. Cassian doesn’t make to answer, so you have to, feeling the distinct weight of the table’s attention. “Just coincidence, I suppose,” you reply, managing a faint smile, keeping your eyes on your plate as you slice one of the roast potatoes in two, steam wafting up from the hot centre. 

“Went out for a walk?” Elain asks. There’s an almost unnoticeable tone of relief in the question—you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t as close to her as you are. Is that how easily she can pick out your own thoughts? “Fresh air’s probably good for you, right?” She says smiling, causing your own lips to curve at their edges fondly. “I think so,” you murmur in reply. 

“Have you had a chance to read any more books recently? I haven’t seen any in your room…I could get some if you want?” Feyre speaks from across the table, and you bite down on the way you want to shrink into yourself as the conversation is drawn over to you. “I haven’t, and it’s fine, thank you. Have you been painting recently?” You ask, swiftly shutting it down and shifting the conversation back to her, hoping you’ll be left out of it now. 

Rhys’s attention flits over her a split second before something passes behind Feyre’s eyes, but she swallows and nods. “There hasn’t been as much time as I’d like, but I’m finding moments,” she answers, but goes no further. You’re glad she’s still getting time to herself in spite of being High Lady and more importantly, a mother. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be if it’s taking up that much of her time…and you probably hadn’t helped…she’s been visiting each day… You should have succeeded. 

The passiveness of the thought catches you a little off guard. Since when had thoughts like that become so habitual? So flippant? You spear a piece of potato with your fork, bringing it to your mouth. It was just a fleeting thought, it’s fine. Weird things happen in the mind anyway, as long as you don’t mean it, you’re okay. 

“Would you…” Feyre’s asking, “be interested in joining me? We could have an easel set up in your room?” 

A part of the potato goes down the wrong way as you hear the question, hand grabbing the napkin as you cover your mouth, coughing. You clear your throat when you’re done, making sure to wipe your lips subtly as you pull the napkin away, sipping on the glass of water to help clear your throat. Once you’ve recovered, you remember her question. 

It would be nice. Really nice, actually, but… “it’s fine, please don’t worry. Painting’s your thing, and I think…personal, to you. Besides, I have my books,” you excuse, heart sinking a little, but it’s for the better. She’s already short on time anyway, she needs to keep that for herself, even if you can’t help but want it. 

The same look passes behind her eyes, and you now wonder if you can’t figure it out because…because you might no longer know her well enough. 

“It’s probably for the better,” Rhys announces, bringing the moment to a swift end, “Feyre’s nude models would probably upset your delicate sensibilities, anyway.” 

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on air as wild, ferocious heat swarms your features, staring ahead, bewildered. 

Rhys grins as a fuming Feyre smacks him on the shoulder, indignant rage lighting her eyes. “Lies! All lies,” she snaps, before sparing you a somewhat apologetic glance. “He’s joking, obviously,” she reassures, shooting a glare Rhys’ way at that last part. “His humour’s apparently a few centuries out of date.”

“Speaking of things on the old side,” a golden voice calls from the hallway, parading into the dining room in heels tall and thin enough to potentially run someone through. “Rhys, is there another case of this stuff? Az wants some more.” 

The High Lord rolls his eyes, amusement clear, Feyre settling at his side, feigned anger dissipating as if it were never there, her eyes twinkling again. 

“We all know you finished off the bottle before you even reached Az’s room,” Amren snipes, thickly-jewelled fingers sparkling as she nurses her own glass, laughter rising from the table. 

“Oh, like you’re any better Amren. You could polish off bottles of blood in the time it took me to eat an appetiser,” Mor replies, heels clicking across the floor as she sweeps through the room in a flurry of vibrant red and stunning gold, taking her seat opposite Elain—between Amren and Rhys. 

One seat and across from your own position. 

The meal fully commencing now all able players are assembled at the table. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay

[misctf]

Don't know if you still want requests but I grew up playing good old american football so I naturally have bulked way up and become so big but now I'd like to play soccer. Can you help me get from football bulky to soccer lean?

You jogged back to the side-lines, high-fiving your teammate as they ran out to take your place. The whistle blows, and you watch as the game resumes. If you told your younger self you’d be trying to play soccer, he would’ve laughed. As your dad said, you were born to play American football. And years of training your body left you bulky and muscular. At 6’2” and 230lbs, you’re a beast. But since graduating college a few years ago, you found it hard to get back into football. Most of your colleagues were into soccer and your company’s team played weekly.

“You should play.” Jake from accounting said.

“Nah, not into that kinda stuff.” You initially replied. You weren’t some twinkle-toed foot fairy. You played football. A real sport.

But you eventually caved. You figured you needed some more cardio in your life and connecting with your colleagues a bit more couldn’t be that bad. You just didn’t figure how much you were going to love it. Or how bad you’d be at it. Your coworkers patted you on the back after you failed to complete a pass. They reassured you it was okay when you accidentally scored on your own goal. And you eventually figured you just didn’t have the body or stamina for the sport. But you weren’t a quitter.

You’d never heard of the Jock Exchange Program until an ad popped up on your screen one evening. You read closely, becoming absolutely fascinated. An app that gives athletes the chance to try out a new sport. An for app those who feel they dedicated themselves to the wrong sport. The process is simple. Match with someone and meet at one of their facilities. Easy enough. You set up your profile, snapping a picture that highlights your bulky, muscular form. And after swiping through a few possible swaps, you match. The guy’s name is Dylan. Just turned 19, blond, lean, and played soccer all his life. He’s a bit young, but he reassures you he’s okay aging up a bit if it means he gets a chance at playing American football.

And a few day later, you’re at the facility. It was the first time you met Dylan. He was certainly shorter and younger than you. A confident, cocky grin etched on his face. You agreed to a 1 month swap, just to see how it goes. You and Dylan sign the papers. And before you knew it, electrodes were hooked up to your head. And then everything went black.

When you awoke, the world around you felt a big larger. You raised your hand and gasped. It was smaller, hairless. The skin young and not weathered by the years. You grab a mirror and look closely at your handsome face, blond hair, and tanned skin. You can’t help but chuckle. It felt so odd. So foreign. Yet it was yours all the same. You eventually got ready and said goodbye to Dylan, who was clearly enjoying his new larger frame. And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back at your old body. You were never much of a narcissist, but god you looked good. You blushed when you felt your new cock chub up a bit. Returning home, you had the chance to really appreciate your new form. The lean, hairless muscle a far cry from your bulkier form. The confident, cocky smirk reminded you of all those asshole jocks you used to play with. This kid probably got a lot of action, you figured.

The next few days were largely normal. You went to work, having to explain to everyone your situation. But afterwards, you had the chance to really shine on the soccer field. Your lean form moving expertly, performing moves you didn’t even know were possible. Jake comes up to you afterwards, slapping you on the back and commending your new skills. And again, the oddest feeling passes through you. When did Jake get so attractive? I mean, he was a good looking guy. Just out of college- really gorgeous smile. And his stubble was a sexy addition to his chiseled face. You even notice the sweat dripping down his shirt. And his manly musk causes your dick to stir. You never had thoughts like that before, yet all you could do was stare dreamily at him.

“Hey, you good?”

“Uh yeah, bro.” You say, “I...” You pause and give him a confident smirk, “Just wondering what you’re doing after this, man.” You say. Images of him fucking you cross your mind and you’re lost in a horny daze, “Wanna head back to my place?”   

He gives you an odd look and asks if you’re okay. Using a name that you don’t think quite sounds right.

“Uh, name’s Dylan.” You say. He raises an eyebrow and in that moment, you snap back to reality, “Oh shit, uh sorry Jake. I need to go!”  You quickly part ways, your mind trying to make sense of what just happened. Just a blip, you figure, nothing to worry about.

But as the days continue to pass, you’re starting to recognize these issues aren’t improving. Your performance at work declines. Tasks you knew how to do with ease are taking much longer and are done incorrectly. At the same time, you’re constantly horny. The hormones raging in this younger body- consuming your every focus. And one night, while you’re browsing porn sites, you realize straight porn isn’t doing it for you. Without much thought, you navigate to a gay porn site you know you’d never heard of, and find a video. And for the first time, you jerk off to gay porn, moaning the entire time. Completely lost in the bliss.

The next day, you don’t even go into work. In fact, you don’t really recall what you do for work. Weren’t you in college? And who’s apartment was this? But a voice is telling you this isn’t right. You can barely recall aspects of your old life. And you realize in terror that these thoughts aren’t your own. You quickly call the help desk for the Jock Exchange Program and tell them what’s been going on.

“That was part of the risks, sir.” They say, “Sometimes, remnants of the old person’s mind remain. And in some cases, will overwrite the host.” They clear their voice, "Not to alarm you, but once an overwrite occurs, it may be impossible to rectify."

“Overwrite? Impossible?” You ask, the panic in your voice evident, “How do I stop this?”

“We can initiate an emergent transfer back to your old body. Can you tell us your name?”

“Dylan Conners.” You say, shaking your head, “No, it’s Dylan Conners.” Your eyes widen and you realize you can’t even remember your old name. In a panic, you hang up the phone.

You need to stop this. You need to... do what? Stop what? You shake your head. And, as you look around the apartment, you feel uncomfortable. This isn’t your place. You don’t even know how you got here. Despite a voice telling you this is your apartment, you flee. You run down the sidewalk and try to make sense of what’s going on. You quickly head to a spot you know all too well: the soccer field. And when you arrive, you take a deep breath. A feeling of comfort washing over you. There’s an abandoned soccer ball and you quickly start to practice. Each move wiping away your worry. Each successful shot on goal removing any doubt that you’re anyone but Dylan Conners. And by the time you’re done, covered in sweat, only Dylan Conners remains. You look down at a text on your phone.

“Hey man, wanted to know if you wanted to prolong this exchange. Got a spot on the team for the rest of the season. And btw, I’m loving this body.”

You chuckle, “Who the fuck is that?” You wonder. You quickly text back, “Sure man, I don’t give a shit.” And close your phone.

[yeonzzzn]

I love your writing. I have a request that is based on something I read from another writer about another group. So if you don't feel comfortable writing it, I totally understand. I am just interested to know what you think of the scenario in which y/n is the 8 member of ENHA and she bets the Hyung line that she can guess who they are just by the way they have sex with her while she's blindfolded.

Alternatively, how about a scenario in which the Hyung line each take y/n on a separate date but they have a bet amongst themselves that they won't be the first to fuck y/n. But they're all down bad for y/n and the struggle is real. They all want each other to fold so they can have you. Who do you think would win the bet?

MUCH LOVE AND PRAISE. 🥰

god I LOVE the one of yn guessing which hyung member based on how they have sex with her while blindfolded.

I just KNOW the moment you even bet the hyung line you could guess who was who by the way they fuck would be driving each of them up a wall. The four of them would have to have a secret meeting together, discussing whether or not to even go through with this. mostly because you’re the 8th member of their group, you are so precious to them and so deserving and so so so kind to them and deal with their bullshit on the daily…but oh god how could they pass this up? the opportunity to fuck you? to ruin you one by one with their cocks while blindfolded? it was so hot to them. they would be stupid to turn it down.

once they decide to take you up on the offer, the boys will have to establish some rules, this was all an experiment after all.

the first rule being that the members can ONLY fuck you once. yes there can be multiple rounds after you guess who they are, but after the time is up they can’t do it again, not until each member has had their turn. each fuck has to be spaced out a couple days to keep you from being sore or completely fucked out.

the second rule is each member IS allowed to kiss you and touch you in anyway they want during sex, they just can’t speak, moan, groan, growl, hiss, whimper, nothing. not a sound until after you guess who they are if you are indeed, correct.

the third rule is none of the members can interrupt. no. matter. what. it could miss up the game on you guessing and show acts of jealousy, which no one wants. 

the fourth rule is all four of them have to be in the know when it’s time to fuck you. none of them can randomly come up behind you and slap a blindfold over your eyes and rail you without the other men knowing. it’s cheating, mostly if you are in a situation that it’s obvious on which member it is. they also have to discus with you on when it’s a good time to even experiment, every party has to be in the know and okay.

the fifth rule being the other members couldn’t be present when the other gets to fuck. this is another way to keep interruption from happening or if the boys decide to pull their hard cocks from their pants while watching you get railed and jerk themselves off and accidentally making any noises.

the sixth rule is neither of the boys can touch you in anyway, shape or form after they’ve had sex with you. once their cocks have been inside you, you become off limits. it’s another way to make sure jealousy doesn’t happen and to keep the game fair for the other men waiting for their fuck. 

the seventh and final rule is being no hard feelings in the end. because if you choose to have sex with one of them again(or even all four of them again) they each have to respect it. if you catch feelings along the way too for one of them, they have to respect it. but that is only a BIG IF on if the situation even takes that route. because you could literally just be looking to get railed by them and have some fun.

which honestly you are. the four of them are the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and you get to look at them everyday, why wouldn’t you want each of them to impale you with their cocks? plus you know each of them like the back of your hand, guessing who was who wouldn’t be a challenge.

you honestly would look forward to it each time. you knew the minute the four of them came up to you with those smirks on their faces that they agreed to the experiment and challenge, a blindfold already in one of their hands signaling that it starts right now.

each time they’ll have you put the blindfold on yourself. the boys will draw straws before hand on who gets to go first to make it fair and have it not be in any specific order.

you knew the minute his hands and lips were on yours that it was jake who drew the lucky straw first. the way his hands squeezed your waist and plump lips kissed you, it was obvious from the start. jake is a big tits guy and very big on doggy, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. The way he flips your naked body over to fuck you from behind with both his hands squeezing your breasts, biting his lips to keep from moaning out on how pleasurable your cunt was wrapped around him. “I know it’s you jakey,” you cooed, “lemme hear you,” god jake would be fucking losing his mind as he pounded into you faster, letting every moan he was holding back escape his lips as he snatches that blindfold off your eyes, placing his hand at the front of your neck to lift you up, his chest connecting to your back, making eye contact with you as he pumps his cock in and out of you, “fuck baby girl,” he growls in your ear, his tongue licking and biting at the lobe, “know me so well just by how I fuck into you, ya? with how I touch and kiss you. fuck yn” the gentleness jake once had with you was out the window as his hips snapped into place against your ass, the fingers that were wrapped around your neck now found their home inside your mouth, and his other fingers circling your clit until you came around him and he was spilling into you.

a few days will go by when the other three approach you, blindfold in hand to repeat the process. you blindfold yourself, they draw the straw and the other were sent out of the room. once again you knew who he was immediately just by the way he pins your arms above your head as his fingers interlock with yours, kissing you so tenderly with so much love. jay is such a lover boy, his hips slowly rocking against yours as he shoved his tongue down your mouth, hands squeezing yours tightly with each thrust into you. you pulled your hands from his grip, wrapping your legs around his waist and sliding your fingers into his hair, finding his ear with the darkness of the blindfold, “jay,” you whine, feeling his cock twitch inside you, “fuck me harder.” jay loved hearing his name fall from your lips the way it did, knowing just by how you called to him and how your body reacts that he was making you feel so fucking good. “shit baby,” he chuckles in your ear, sliding his lips down to your neck and back up to your ear, “your wish is my command.” he pumped himself harder into you, staying at his slow pace. his hands gripped the bedsheets when he felt your legs tightening around him and the clench of your cunt. as much as jay loved making love to you like this, he wanted to make a mess of you, mostly after you guessed right on who he was? it was so fucking hot at how well you knew him sexually even when neither of you have ever acted or spoken in any sexual way together. jay didn’t hesitate to slide his arms underneath you so he would grip onto your shoulders as he fucked into you faster and harder than before, using his teeth to pull the blindfold off from your face so you could stare back at him as you came undone on his cock, watching him as he clenched his jaw and groaned out strings of “fuck” as he shot his seed inside you.

another few days press on by, the remaining two stood before you handing out the blindfold. repeat. repeat. repeat. with the way you were pressed against the door of your room, legs spread wide by his knees, the hand he had at the back of your neck as he pressed the side of your face into the wood of the door and fucked into you at a primal rate you knew as sunghoon. he was rough as he railed you against the door, shit he was rough since the beginning. with how he pulled you from your bed and slammed you to the door and how his hands roamed, it was no doubt sunghoon. he had you moaning his name after the first few hard thrusts into you. his chest touching your back and flinging the blindfold off, “no need for this anymore,” he groaned. sunghoon knew you would guess him quickly, needing to rid that blindfold quickly so he can see the full expressions of your face as he ruined you, “come on baby, keep screaming my name. tell me how good I am giving it to you. let them know how fucking good hoonie is giving it to you.” sunghoon knew the other men were listening, he planned on it too. with the way he was fucking you against the door and how it slammed against the frame, how could they not be listening? sunghoon made it his mission to have you screaming he know within seconds of sliding himself inside you. he’d heard the moans that came from your mouth when jake and jay fucked you, he sure as hell wanted them to hear how loud your voice was getting just by his cock. somewhere along the way it became a competition to see who could get you moaning the loudest and honestly, you were here for it. “hoonie,” you screamed, feeling the drool leave your lips and slide down the door. “fuck yn, being so good for me, taking me so well.” it didn’t take much longer until you released on his cock and his movements getting sloppily until his final thrust had him unloading into you.

the last final days passed on, heeseung appeared into your bedroom and closing the door behind him. there honestly wasn’t any need for the blindfold anymore, heeseung was the last to get his dick wet and either way you’d know it was him. after each fuck the boys gathered to discuss what happened, they knew they would lose against you. you guess each of them perfectly one by one, which is where the contest of seeing who could get you to moan the loudest came into play. even though heeseung was last, it was still only fair he gets his turn. he sat on the edge of your bed, pulling you into his lap and was immediately hard at the sight of the way you straddled him. he placed his hand against the side of your neck, bringing you in to connect his lips to yours, “I’m going to take my time with you,” he whispered in between kisses, loving the way you moaned into his mouth at those words. he rid you and him of your clothes slowly one by one until the two of you were skin against skin, getting turned on just by feeling your flesh against his. heeseung moaned out your name softly as you slid down onto him, his fingers digging into your hips. heeseung didn’t care one bit that he was the last to fuck you. didn’t care about the stupid competition of who could get your vocals the loudest. didn’t care that the rules had to be bent in his favor. because honestly, heeseung was the real winner here. he still got to fuck you, got to fuck you properly at that. he didn’t have to keep his moans down or suppress them until you took a guess. he was able to be as vocal as he wanted from the moment he walked into your room. he got to make eye contact with you the entire time as he felt you up, as you rode his dick and squeezed his shoulders for support. heeseung just knew the other losers were losing their fucking shit as they stood at the other side of the door. heeseung didn’t need to get you screaming at the top of your lungs for the others to know you were fucking his cock into oblivion. “seungie,” you moaned and flung your head back, legs getting weak and shakey, “what it is my love?” he cooed, knowing damn well what it was you wanted, “wanna cum? hmm? want to come undone around seungie’s cock?” you nodded, whimpering out a “please hee,” and that’s all it took. heeseung sat up straighter, wrapping both arms around your body, using every last bit of strength in his hips and legs to fuck up into you. you slid your fingers into his hair, resting the side of your head against his, screaming his name as he hit into your g-spot. oh fuck heeseung was losing himself inside you, his head going dizzy from the pleasure. you no doubt were screaming and moaning louder than the other three got you. you were so loud heeseung was afraid he might lose his hearing in that ear, oh but fuck it would be so worth it. because again, heeseung was the real winner here. was the real winner as he made you come undone on his cock, your cum dripping out of you and sliding down his thighs. the real winner as he moaned out your name when his seed painted your gummy walls white.

jealousy was unavoidable, unfortunately. each of the four boys getting caught up in their feelings for you and how fucking good your pussy felt wrapped around them. but alas, you proved you knew each and every single one of them by how they fuck, only feeding into their egos when you tell you you undoubtably wanted them to fuck you again and again and again and again. each of the four of them brought something to the table when it came to pleasuring you, how could you deny that pleasure? mostly when you have four sexy men drooling over you and your sex. it was well worth it to challenge them.

[yawneon]

hcs for

percy jackson hcs for hogwarts color houses? (if you wanted to - maybe for reader too?)

(this has been marinating in my drafts for MONTHS)

PERCY JACKSON !

- im a firm believer in percy being harry in another universe

- if harry wasnt a BBBBBITCH

- gryffindor prefect whether you like it or not. (turned head boy, lily and james situation over here.)

- 1/3 star trio (somehow percy’s in it)

- would and could beat the shit out of harry potter

- IS DEFINITELY A QUIDDITCH PLAYER

- probably a seeker or a chaser but im getting off topic

- hes a prefect that all the first years look up to yk

- like those cool older students that you want to be when your fresh in high school.

- “percy is so cool!“ “i wanna be a prefect like percy!”

- loves the attention ngl

- sneaks around to ravenclaw table to sit with annabeth (or you) and then when he gets caught he goes “i was just asking her something!” when he knows damn well he was flirting with her.

- you can tell by the shit-eating grin on his face. ^

- definitely is in a organised wand fighting club

- most likely is a pain in the ass for the teachers but he gets good grades (thanks to his girlfriend) and he probably has saved the school from some sort of magical monster once or twice

- secretly avada kadavra’d a fly once (felt bad afterwards and held a funeral for the fly)

ANNABETH CHASE !

- ravenclaw head girl.

- 2/3 of the star trio

- everyone loves annabeth, shes like the star student.

- “ask annabeth she knows.” “annabeth can you help me with this question?”

- gods shes smart but shes more than that.

- she likes to hide away in one of the towers and she makes castles ans structures out of toothpicks she steals from the tables at breakfast, lunch and dinners.

- also a student alot of the first years look up to.

- but mainly the girls like annabeth.

- the ones who felt they weren’t ever going to be smart enough or were never going to amount to enough.

- annabeth would smile sweetly at them and remind them to believe in themselves.

- is the only person percy really listens to.

- percy could be messing around and not listening in a class and the moment annabeth even mutters a word starting with p hes sat on a chair, hands in his lap, posture straight and mouth SHUT.

GROVER UNDERWOOD !

- now i don’t want to stereotype… im not that type of girl.

- hufflepuff prefect

- AND BEFORE ALL OF YOU COME ALONG AND START WHINIGN AND CRYING “I HATE HUFFLEPUFF” BLAHS BALAHA BALAHA SHUT UP.

- he loves his house and takes so much pride in it

- i don’t think he’d like playing quidditch but he would be in the front row seats cheering on hufflepuff

- and if his house wasn’t playing he’s there cheering for percy

- 3/3 of the star trio.

- grover “my bf” underwood is a hufflepuff.

- alot of the younger kids look out for grover in a crowd

- especially the misbehaving gryffindor kids that are running away from clarrise

- if they can’t find percy they cower behind grover

- and grover being the big hearted boy he is he stands guard of the kids despite shitting his pants himself

- he loves his house.

- he loves care of magical beasts class

- all the new hufflepuff kids IN GENERAL always go to him for directions which makes him 1 too many times late to class. but im like so sure the teachers know and love him so they let him off with just a soft warning.

- “i’m so sorry professor! i was helping a first-“ “just sit down underwood.”

- to all those fans that watched fantastic beasts, grover is 100% using a tower like newt did with new beasts he finds.

- has probably accidentally wandered into the forbidden forest with annabeth and percy by chance. (he wanted to find a unicorn)

- some random slytherin kid picked on a hufflepuff first year and grover ripped the kid a new one. hes loyal to his house 💔

- he had to get a new wand once or twice because he used to chew on it in exams (when he got especially anxious)

CLARRISE LA RUE !

- despite her being sometimes rude

- i do think she’d also be in gryffindor 😭

- kinda like an arrogant, “im better than you” gryffindor

- like how she is in the show and most of the books towards percy

- but underneath her hard exterior shes soft towards the ones she loves and is close to

- also a quidditch GOD

- the most exhilirating beater to watch in quidditch.

- alot of first year girls also admire clarrise

- more so the ones that want to be strong and join quidditch.

- EXTREMELY PROUD TO BE A GRYFFINDOR

- she REPS THAT SHIT HARD

- “i think slytherin is co-“ “GRYFFINDOR IS THE BEST HOUSE SHUT UP”

- extremely prideful of her colours and her house

- a little bit too much sometimes

- when someone loses house points you better pack it up and run because miss girl is hunting for you (looking at you percy)

LUKE CASTELLAN !

- erm

- slytherin head boy

- “luke is so cool!” “and hes hot..” “but percy’s better!”

- theres luke people and then theres percy people

- luke is alot more cunning in the sense that he openly does things to capture more hearts and beat percy in this ongoing war (he will be the hottest prefect.)

- probably descended from a line of gryffindors but then he popped out

- seeker in qudditch but also is a good chaser due to his build

- THE slytherin boy.

- he is so unbelievably good at quidditch and leads slytherin to most of their wins.

- another star student here

- “why can’t you be more like luke?”

- maybe has possibly been an inside spy for he who can not be named. (voldymort)

- definetly in that chamber of secrets fucking shit up

- such a helpful head boy.

- like he loves his house and will die in green

- this guy probably has every single passage in hogwarts mapped out perfectly like dimensions and all.

- may or may not be plotting something in the forbidden forest.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Hcs for Itadori x reader, who distances themselves from him and avoids him, because they have feelings for him and are scared, because they don't know how to behave around him and are scared of rejection please?

Itadori is the best person you know. He’s kind and empathetic, always willing to listen to others, and has this endearing positivity about most things. He may not be the brightest person but he’s quick to learn when given the chance. He’s also strong and handsome.

Likewise, people could list positives about you; but in this situation, when you think about what you have to offer in return, all the positives you’ve heard, you still can’t see what is so special about you that someone like him would accept your feelings. You feel inadequate.

You’re don't think you're pin-up model pretty like his posters, Itadori likes tall girls with big asses, he claims, and there’s nothing about his behavior that would insinuate that he likes your personality more than the rest of your friends.

You can’t take another day without telling him, feeling the need to scream out that you like the boy every time he gets too close, touches your arm too readily, calls out your name to back him up in whatever dumb arguments he would have with Kugisaki, or save you a seat right next to him.

You’re terrified that you might accidentally let it slip, and he’d reject you because there isn’t a good enough reason for him to like you as much as you like him. And if your words didn’t make him realize it then your actions would give it away eventually.

Fortunately, Itadori isn’t very perceptive when it comes to romantic feelings towards himself. What he can notice is when one of his friends seems troubled, and he can notice even more that he hasn’t been seeing you around as much lately.

He notices things like you don’t sit next to him anymore at meals, you don’t seem to want to hang out together as much (and when you do you always ask if the others coming too), or when he’s reading a good manga and wants to show you a panel you’re not there.

Itadori thinks he’s done something wrong to make you angry at him, and the guilt of not even knowing what he did wrong starts to preoccupy his mind. Maybe he took one too many snacks out your “secret” snack drawer (shit, did I forget to replace it?) or maybe you didn’t like the way he’d play with and squish your plushies when he’d hang out in your room (they never complained about it so how was I supposed to know!), or maybe you didn’t like his humor (But you laughed at his jokes a lot. But what if it was those awkward uncomfortable laughs and he didn’t notice!)

Itadori is pulling out his hair trying to figure it out. He considers you one of his best friends, and it’d be awkward to be classmates and work together if you hated him.

He gets all desperate about it, annoying Fushiguro and Kugisaki to help him figure out what he did so he can apologize already because every time he tries to ask you swear you’re not mad at him!

He wants to make up already and go back to arguing about stupid things instead, like whether purple or pink hair would suit you the best. He becomes hyper-aware of the pinch in his heart when he thinks about the two of you possibly matching and now you keep avoiding him.

Either Fushiguro or Kugisaki is going to try to force you to talk to him because the tension is getting annoying and a bit sad with how pouty Itadori gets and to tell him that you have a crush on him already. That you’re already pushing him away and losing him by hurting his feelings.

Before you can, Itadori is already onto his next move, buying anything to make up for what he thinks he did wrong: new snacks; new plushies; new novelty socks from when you loaned him a pair and they got ripped up during a mission; that hoodie of his you’re always complimenting? Yours, you can have it. He doesn’t even like hoodies anyway!

He’s going to show up at your dorm door, apologizing. He doesn’t know exactly what he did so he is going to simply apologize for everything. He really hates fighting with you because he really likes you, and it’s killing him not to have you like him, too.

You end up having to apologize to him and explain that you’re scared to be around him because you have feelings for him and didn’t want to be rejected, that you want to be friends with him even if he doesn’t have those feelings back for you, and you were afraid to lose him as a friend.

It takes him a minute to process everything you said. He’s trying to think of a world where he could ever reject you. You’re so pretty and talented and smart, and you did nothing but occupy his mind over the last couple of weeks and even before then he’d think about you a lot. You’re dazzling.

He explains all that to you so sincerely, with the smallest hint of shy embarrassment as he puts the words together, that it makes you feel stupid for even thinking he’d reject you and not realizing that he could hold the world with the amount of feelings he has for you.

Of course, you accept.

Itadori laughs and shuffles all the items he got for you: he guesses this means he prepared the s/o hoodie too early?

[beddybites]

What usually triggers baby mode and what were everyone’s reactions the first time it happened? Particularly the other two babies ^^

i was planning on drawing this but i am so. so tired... so i hope this is okay!! tiny 21 trio au my beloved

Sanemi:

usually he goes Baby Mode when his emotions get carried away. 9 times out of 10 its because he's really angry and frustrated about his situation

but he will also go baby mode when he's super happy. Tengen found out he could get him to go Baby Mode via tickling him and playing with him for example

He went Baby Mode for the first time when he accidentally got himself hurt during a 'tantrum.' Sanemi accidentally hit his head, and the second Genya scrambled to make sure he was okay, he began bawling his eyes out and he dropped

Genya was worried, but once Sanemi was cheered up, he was thrilled, because it turns out Baby Sanemi is attached to him

this weirded out Giyuu and Obanai a lot-- the angry Wind Hashira was suddenly a super happy-and-go-lucky baby who drooled all over the place

they were not huge fans of Sanemi trying to play with them, though Giyuu reluctantly joined in-- only to regress into an infant mindset as well. Obanai thought he was in hell

Giyuu:

he’s having a hard time processing the attention and care he’s receiving and he just sort of drops out of nowhere

Obanai and Sanemi, being his number one haters, mock and degrade him for it via baby babble, but thats just because they struggle a LOT with the situation

they are very thrown off when Giyuu starts cooing and attempts to cuddle with them

Sanemi in particular, gets super annoyed because he keeps pawing at his face and trying to play with him

Giyuu keeps calling Obanai "baby" because he's a lot tinier. the Hashira find this hysterical

Giyuu warms up to the transition pretty fast to make things easier. he tends to go Baby Mode more voluntarily and tries to help the other two understand why its useful

Sanemi and Obanai just assume Giyuu is doing this to make himself look high and mighty, and it pisses them off. every time Giyuu goes Baby Mode around them, they spend the first minute being like "what the hell is the matter with you. jerk"

the other Hashira are grateful but a few can’t help themselves from teasing him about it. they all agree hes adorable when he regresses. Shinobu is thriving 

Tanjiro and Nezuko adore Giyuu whether he's big or small, but when he's Baby Mode, he's much more willing to be held and snuggled and loved

Urokodaki cries the first time he sees Giyuu in Baby Mode. he loves his son very much

Obanai:

his first Baby Mode directly resulted from Obanai's inability to find Kaburamaru. someone (probably Tengen) makes the mistake of pulling the serpent away from the tiny baby out of fear that Kaburamaru might accidentally hurt him, and when Obanai lost sight of his familiar, he began to quietly weep

nobody noticed his cries at first, but Mitsuri quickly picked up on how curled up the baby was, and how his little body shook in distress. she quickly scooped him up and showered him in affection, not even questioning Obanai's change in mental state

as she fawned over him, the others reunited Kaburamaru with Obanai, and the two clung to each other the whole night

everyone quickly found out Obanai would involuntarily go Baby Mode for several reasons. mainly losing sight of Kaburamaru or when everyone tries to get him fed

Obanai is extremely sensitive and weepy, and the only thing that really cheers him up is words of reassurance combined with snuggles. Giyuu and Sanemi find this pretty ironic. usually Sanemi will just pat the smaller baby's head, but Giyuu will actively crawl over and hug him in an effort to help

when he has trouble eating, Sanemi and Giyuu sympathize with him, since this is a habit Big Obanai has as well. those two can actually eat fruits and mushed up baby food, but Obanai still needs to be bottle-fed (at least in the beginning). to help, the two will also drink from a bottle to show him it's okay

when they are no longer in Baby Mode, Sanemi yells that Obanai owes him. Obanai feels both insulted and shocked

he will also go Baby Mode while being taken care of Mitsuri and Rengoku. its hard not to when they're so genuine and loving

[beenbaanbuun]

seventeen maknae line’s reaction to their youngest member not taking care of themselves

genre - fluff

warnings - talk about unhealthy eating habits, diet culture, sleep problems

lee seokmin

would anyone be surprised if i say that dk would be on you like a fucking rash if he notices a single thing out of the ordinary with you

like even if it’s just you being forgetful, this absolute angel of a man will 100% take the time and effort to seek you and and check on you

so when you sleep through your alarm and forget breakfast one morning, it’s no surprise when you wake up to seokmin’s face

“are you feeling alright?” he asks, voice gentle as he studies your sleepy face, “you missed breakfast…”

and of course you nod, because you’re feeling fine, but it doesn’t stop him from being concerned

“late night,” you reply as you sit up on your bed and rub your face, “must’ve just slept through my alarm, minnie.”

you say it to calm him down and stop him from worrying, but you only make it worse

“late night?” he sits down on your bed and grabs your hand, “couldn’t you sleep? is something on your mind? do i need to talk to someone for you?”

and you can’t help but laugh because trust seokmin to blow it out of proportion

you just lean into him and hug him as you tell him how grateful you are to have someone who cares so much

“i’m fine though, minnie,” you squeeze him, “i just needed to beat wonwoo’s high score in mario kart…”

kim mingyu

he’s someone i can see accidentally taking care of you

like he hasn’t even noticed the fact that you’ve started to be a little too strict with your diet and yet somehow he’s managing to make sure you’re eating enough

like i can see him cooking a meal and without even realising you haven’t eaten yet, he calls you over to try it

and the big baby blows on it and feeds it to you like to overly attentive friend/self-claimed big brother that he is

“open wide, kiddo,” he grins as you follow his instructions, “here comes the aeroplane!”

he only narrowly dodges the kick you aim at his shins…

and you have to admit that the food is good, and even if you don’t necessarily want to eat, you’re in a difficult situation

you can’t say it’s bad and deny it because then you’ll upset him, but you also can’t say it’s good and deny it because then he’ll make you take it anyway

best thing for you to do is just accept the food and move on

you promise you’ll try harder with your diet tomorrow

but as you walk away with the bowl of food, you know you won’t be able to - not with mingyu around

xu minghao

i mentioned minghao briefly in the hyung line one and i stand by what i said

this man monitors your diet like a hawk!!

not in a weird ‘you shouldn’t eat too much’ sort of way, but he likes to make sure you’re treating your body kindly

like he watches that you’re not eating too much of a bad thing, but he also likes to check that you’re not eating too little

literally follows you around with a piece of fruit in his bag for when you inevitably complain about being hungry

“oranges are a great source of vitamin c,” he says when he sees you pout at the fruit, “and i know you don’t get enough of that. now eat up!”

and if he sees you even eyeing up an energy drink, you best prepare yourself for the lecture of your life

“do you know how much caffeine is in one of these?” he hold the half drunk can in your face, “too much! if you’re tired, sleep more. god knows you need it…”

little do you know, he monitors your sleep too…

drags you out to do meditation with him if he sees that you’re up too late, knowing that by the time he’s finished you’ll be completely knocked out

he’ll complain about having to drag your tired body to bed yet again, but you can’t see the smile he wears as he tucks you in and wishes you a good night

boo seungkwan

i can see seungkwan as being very overly-attentive to your mental health more than anything else

like sure, he wants to make sure you’re taking care of your physical health too, but he knows that if you’re not there’s probably a deeper reason

so when he sees you arrive at practice one morning with deep eye bags and a frown, he is all over you in minutes

“bad sleep?” he asks as he ruffles your hair. you shrug, but he doesn’t mind. you don’t have to agree for him to know that he’s right, “want to talk about it?”

you sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping his line of questioning

“i thought it was about time i went on a diet,” you say simply as you drop your bag in the corner, “i was up late researching what diet would be best.”

he scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearly dismayed with your words

“and why do you think you need to diet?” he says with a stern look on his face and you realise you’re not going to get out of this easily

all you can do is explain your thought process, and while he listens to every word you say, it’s obvious he’s more than upset

“if you want to do this, i cant stop you,” he says when you’re finished, “but i want you to do it for the right reasons, and i want you to do it healthily.”

chwe hansol

i think vernon would take care of you a lot, but you might not always notice since he does it silently

like this man will not express his worries about you not looking after yourself, he’ll just try his hardest to solve it

you’re not eating enough? he makes sure to put more meat on your plate during meal times

you’re not sleeping enough? he puts some melatonin gummies on your nightstand

you’re not drinking enough? you’re the first person he seeks out during breaks to offer a bottle of water to

it might take you a while to notice just how much he’s taking care of you at first, but when you do you always go out of your way to thank him

but you take a leaf out of his own book, and do it a little differently

“someone gave me some melatonin,” you say to seungcheol, but just loud enough that vernon can hear, “it helped so much! like, whoever it was is a hero.”

your eyes keep flickering over to vernon the whole time you’re talking, just so he knows that you know it’s him

and sure, he doesn’t do it for the praise, but he can’t deny it’s nice when you’re hyping him up anonymously to the other members

lee chan

this man will be your partner in crime and i guarantee he can and will absolutely use that against you if he needs to

like he insists on you two doing everything together and if you say you’re not doing anything? well neither is he!

and of course, when chan says he’s not going to eat dinner because you’re not, you feel so incredibly guilty that you decide that you decide maybe you shouldn’t skip the meal

“if you’re not hungry, then i’m not hungry!” he folds his arms and stares you down

“chan, that’s not how it works,” you scoff as you scan over some lyric sheets you’d been tasked to memorise, “if you’re hungry, go eat.”

he shakes his head and stays glued to his chair with a smirk

“we do everything together,” he says, “and if you’re being irresponsible and skipping meals, then we’ll do that together too!”

and whilst his logic makes no sense, you know he means it

so of course you push your work to the side and follow him out of the room to get dinner together

and when you’re up too late working too hard, chan is right by your side throughout the whole thing, refusing to sleep until you do

and it’s frustrating because you want to take care of chan just as much as he wants to take care of you

so you eat all your meals, and sleep a healthy amount, and drink as much water as you can and it’s annoying, but if it’s keeping chan healthy then you’re happy

[fancyfeathers]

Could you do the lawyer of ADA, they deal with Dazai a lot. They managed to get taken by the Guild as a hostage, instead of freaking out they actually relax and treat it like a vacation. Some of the Guild members are confused until ADA calls them to negotiate but Dazai takes over asking about the legal ramifications of a fire he may have caused, but in his defense it was half on fire when he got involved. Fukuzawa grabs the phone off him and requests to speak to Fitzgerald. Instead of tea the lawyer asks for whiskey on rocks.

This has both platonic (children) and romantic (adults) yanderes

You could hear the irritating voice of Dazai from the other end of the the phone, he was so loud despite Fukuzawa having the phone. Fitzgerald sits on the couch across from you, and he even looked annoyed from hearing Dazai’s voice and he’s not even used to it like you. You could hear Fukuzawa’s voice, trying to negotiate with Fitzgerald dispute the chaos in the background. Fitzgerald rubbed his temples before cutting the president off.

“Listen old sport, let me think about your offer and you can call me back once you get a proper handle on your employees.” There was a brief noise on the other end of the line that sounded like yelling but it was cut off by Fitzgerald hanging up. He looked at you and shook his head with that charming smile. “I’ll be honest I don’t know how you deal with that all.”

“It takes the patience of a saint.”

“Then I must be the devil.” He waved over a maid in the room telling her to get him some tea and then he looked at you. “Would you like anything?”

“Whiskey.”

“This early?”

“After that headache I need it.”

Honestly being held captive, if you could call it that, by the Guild, was much better than the in and out of your job at the Armed Detective Agency. You have tried to quit in the past but somehow Dazai would be on the same train you took home, Kenji would run into you at the farmer’s market, or even the siblings at the convenience store by your house which was odd since you lived on the other end of the city that the Agency was on. Those were the milder cases, there were the other times where Kunikida would accidentally run into you in the middle of a job, or when you fell down the stairs in the park and Dr. Yosano just happened to be there. It felt like every misfortune in your life was tied to the agency and they were just pulling you back. Being held hostage was actually nice, sure you had to be under surveillance by some Guild member, normally this was one of two young men, John Steinbeck or Mark Twain, and they were nice enough. But honestly Fitzgerald had you treated very well, not like any other hostage situations you have been in.

“Well while they pull themselves together I have a proposal for you.” Fitzgerald said as the maid went to get your drinks. “The only real reason you’re here is because that’s the only way I could discuss this with you.”

“Smart, but the legal ramifications of it will be-“

“Extreme, I can deal with that, nothing a bit of money can’t erase.” He cut you off, chuckling under his breath. “You know the dirt of the Armed Detective Agency, if you start working for me I can get you out.”

“You want me to betray the agency?”

“I’ve seen your employment records, you have quit from there multiple times, but have always come back within two weeks. Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re trapped and want to get out.”

He was right, you couldn’t even lie about that. You wanted to get out, the detective agency was only going to be a temporary job while you discussed potential employment with law firms in Yokohama and even Tokyo. Those few weeks turned into months, and those months into years, and not one of those law firms wanted to take you, almost that they were afraid of you. You had your suspicions after Dazai was smiling a little too wide after you received another letter of rejection, but you could never confirm it. Your hands curled into fists, grabbing the fabric of the skirt you were wearing.

“…that’s correct.”

“I thought so, well if you agree to this, you will be free from the agency, I will be sure to get U.S. citizenship for you within the week if you so wish for it, and law firms lined up with jobs for you, or if you’d like you could continue work for the Guild and you could have more money than you would know what to do with.” The maid finally came, setting your drinks on the coffee table between the two of you. Fitzgerald picks up your drink and hands it to you and then his cup of tea and takes a long sip. “You’re free to reject, but if you do you’ll have to deal with the agency again, likely for the rest of your life-”

“Deal.” You never answered faster in your life, if you got away from the agency you would be free to spend your life how you wanted. Fitzgerald smiled, but his eyes had a dangerous glint to them.

“Prove it.”

He wanted dirt, so what could you give them? Kenji, Kunikida, Atsushi, Ranpo, and the Tanizaki siblings had next to nothing on them, The President had his past as an assassin, then Yosano who had a bit of a past in the war, there was Dazai with- actually you wouldn’t dare expose that out of fear for your life. Who was left?

Your stomach sank in realization…

But you couldn’t keep living like this…

“Kyoka Izumi, she used to be in the Port Mafia, she was used as an assassin due to her ability and killed a total of 35 people in 6 months.”

You heard the phone ring again, as if almost on cue with your words. You jumped slightly as if you got caught exposing your deepest darkest secret. You watched as Fitzgerald leaned over and picked up the phone and answered as you sipped on your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. You could hear Fukuzawa say something on the other end of the line, something about an amount of money but Fitzgerald cut him off.

“There has been some changes to the deal old sport, see it seems Miss (Name) doesn’t want to work for you anymore so I have no use for her a hostage anymore.” You watched as Fitzgerald reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gun, you felt like you were about to be sick. He did not aim it at you though, just at a wall and he shot it off… he made it seem like you died. “Goodbye.”

You could hear the yelling like last time on the other end of the line as he hung up, only now it was panicked and worried, but no matter how much you tried you couldn’t make out the voice of Dazai, that alone made you scared.

Fitzgerald picked up his tea cup again and raised it up in a toast. “Here to new beings.”

With your mind being elsewhere, both in fear, guilt, and relief, you could only manage a small. “ya.”

You did not know what would happen next but at least now you were free, you had your life back again and that was worth celebrating…

“Welcome to the Guild, Miss (Name).”

[pleasoflove]

love grows best in little houses — lee jeno

roommate jeno x f reader

fluff, friends to lovers, pining, close proximity … >:)

7k words

summary: love grows best in little houses with fewer walls to separate, where you eat and sleep so close together you can't help but communicate. if we had more room between us, think of all we'd miss... love grows best in houses just like this.

authors note: this silly modern all white farmhouse quote had me thinking!!!

“I’m home,” You announce quite obnoxiously, jingling your keys and shopping bags. You made sure to shake the doorknob a little before stepping in as well, doing the courtesy of warning your roommate in case he had company over. 

Instead, you find him relaxed on the couch, a knowing smile resting on his face. He gets up to help you with the grocery bags, “I could tell.” 

You give Jeno an eyeroll, hanging your keys on the little rack by the door. “I’m doing you a favor, okay? Last thing I need is to walk in on you going at it with some chick from your lab class.” 

He laughs a quick laugh, and you get lucky enough to see his eyes form into crescents before his features relax. “Don’t worry. I think I’d warn you before starting something in here.” 

“Better safe than sorry.” 

Sometimes you find yourself squinting and having quick, fleeting thoughts like maybe I should get my eyes checked, but you’re not oblivious to Lee Jeno’s looks, whose entire being seems to have been crafted by all the angels residing in the heavens themselves. All five feet and ten inches of his existence, from the little stray hair that sticks up from the rest to the bottoms of his feet; Jeno is a sight for sore eyes. 

He’s inescapable, too. Quite literally, since you live with him in something that would be flattered to be even called a shoebox of a home. 

The front door is simply the entrance to the kitchen— there is no dining room. The wall to your left side when you walk in is essentially the side of the staircase to your little loft, where your measly mattress sits on the floor. 

Beneath your loft is Jeno’s “bedroom”, where his mattress is placed directly on the floor as well. He’s got a curtain hung up to separate the joke of his room from the living room, which barely fits the couch that the two of you snagged off someone from Facebook Marketplace. 

So, yeah, your living situation is tough, except it only gets harder when the two of you share the most crucial and, possibly, most private space that anyone could ever have. 

The bathroom. 

Oh, it was tough on your heart. It still is, sometimes, though you’ve gotten better at pretending that you can’t see Jeno’s entire naked upper body when he steps out of the shower and you dash inside to finally relieve your bladder. 

It’s not ideal, you know, but it’s the best that your money (combined) can get. Before the start of your junior year, you had been in such a slump over a breakup with your ex that you slacked off hard when it came to apartment hunting. Prices had gone up tenfold by the time you started searching, and with every single day that passed, they only rose and rose, practically laughing in your face for your earlier incompetence. 

It wasn’t until you mentioned to your friend (coworker), Mark, that it had been absolute hell trying to find a place to stay. And bless his heart, that precious boy Mark Lee, as he lifted his hand to run it through his hair, only to accidentally knock off his uniform hat off his head as he exclaimed, I got you! 

That’s how you met Jeno. A friend of a coworker-turned-friend who had been sheepishly looking for a roomie to occupy that devilishly tiny space because even though it was smaller than a suburban backyard, the rent was still so high. 

Before you moved in, your automatic gameplan with any roommate was to interact as little as possible. Stay out of the kitchen if they’re in it. Watch movies in your room if the living room is occupied. Avoid being in the same space at all. Less contact with someone you barely knew meant less conflict, less tension, less worry. You just come in and out, talk about whose turn it is to buy the paper towels and stack the dishes, then move on with your life. 

Absolutely impossible with Jeno. Firstly, he’s a kind-hearted boy. Well, not a boy— he is a man. A boy-ish one with that smile he’s got, and the tenderness behind his words yet the playful venom he spits at you whenever he gets the chance. It’s hard to stay away when his personality is so well-balanced and welcoming that you can’t help but to interact. 

That, and it’s hard to avoid someone when you’re in the kitchen cleaning up and they have to walk right past you in order to leave. The first few weeks were awfully awkward; a constant cycle of oh, sorry, as the two of you tried to get past each other but couldn’t because of how close everything was together. Jeno gave up the act quickly and began to laugh softly at these little conflicts. It made you feel better, made you feel like you too could laugh at the silly reality of your situation. The apartment felt warmer. You’re unsure if it’s because it was tiny, and the heat was trapped, or because getting comfortable felt nice and it slowly transformed your place into your home. 

“Ah. Fruity Pebbles? Someone’s tending to their inner child.”

You huff, your back pressing against his as the two of you sort the new groceries into the little storage space that you have. “They were on sale. And what about it? I’m sure baby Lee enjoyed a bowl or two. Don’t mask your inner child’s excitement with learned patronization.” 

“Someone’s been reading lately,” He shoots back, and you can hear his stupid smile through his voice. “Big words for someone like you.” 

“You know what? You can forget about the pebbles. Get your own cardboard cereal.” 

“I don’t think it’ll fit in the pantry.” 

“Laundry day?”

Yes, laundry day. The most taxing and annoying chore of all. Laundry day, where you have to haul your drawstring bag of clothes down the stairs, out of the apartment and into the hallway, all the way down to the elevator. It’s a mission, it’s quite serious. 

Jeno stares up at you from the foot of the stairs, eyeing you with humor as he sees you lug around that giant sack of clothing. Oh, how helpful he is, only making you more self-aware as he stands with his fitted undershirt and notorious gray sweats. How lovely of him. 

You try coping with the close proximity by turning your attraction to him into annoyance, only your brain does this wicked thing where it gets so annoyed you cannot help but notice all the other handsome, kind, inviting things about him to get annoyed about.

You do not, by any means, have feelings for Jeno. He’s more like that hot friend that you are so sure is out of your league that you simply give up. Yes, he’s hot. Yes, you know nothing will come out of it. Yes, you are one hundred percent okay with that. It’s just difficult when he’s got a pair of eyes and you aren’t looking your best. Human nature to feel a little self conscious, you guess. 

“Let me come with,” He offers as you finally reach the bottom of the steps, mindlessly taking the lump of clothes and bringing it into his arms like it were the weight of a newborn baby. 

“Eh?”

“I will help you,” He starts again, this time speaking slowly to mock you. He’s trying to stifle a shit-eating grin from coming up on his face. He’s so unbearable that you lightly smack at his arm. 

You don’t understand why he would offer to tag along; the laundromat is one of the worst places to spend your free time at. The one you go to has a corner store right next to it, which is nice, but it feels boring again after you collect your snacks and choose a chair to sit in while you watch your clothes spin around and around. It’s even worse when the wall-mounted TVs play nothing but a loop of all the songs that reached top 10 on Billboard in 2013. 

But Jeno doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things, you think, as you reach the building and hop out of his car. He’s got so much patience in his heart that you’re not sure what could ever bore him to death. 

The two of you pick your washers and start dumping your clothes in. It’s pretty quiet, save for the low rumbling of the other machines and Katy Perry’s Roar playing softly from the TVs. The bell on the entrance door jingles as an older lady walks in with a little boy who's got a candy bar in hand. 

When you finish loading the washer, you turn to Jeno swiftly. “Want anything from next door?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Any sour candy.” 

While you head out on your mission to bag the snacks, Jeno picks a table by the window to sit at. He zones out, mindlessly watching the music video play out on the tv, but the sound is muffled in his ears. He's not sure if it's from his lack of focus or the overpowering sound of the machines running. 

He’s pulled out of it when the little boy speeds by. With the whole laundromat to himself, he weaves in and out of the rows like it's a maze, yet dutifully obeys his grandmother’s commands to pass him the little detergent tablets on the drying table. After he passes them to her, he starts running again. 

He’s about to pass Jeno again before he trips over his own shoelaces and tumbles down to the floor. Jeno automatically perks up, worry flashing in his eyes as he looks at the boy and then to his grandmother. Her eyes are busy on the laundry, sorting out the colors and the whites, and while Jeno is internally panicking about the wellbeing of the child, the little boy simply laughs it off and gets back up on his feet. He’s a little bashful due to having an audience, but after Jeno wordlessly sees that he’s okay, they both relax. 

The candy that he was holding had slid across the floor, so Jeno takes it upon himself to pick it up and give it back. He silently inspects it of any damage, earning a laugh from the little one as he hands it to him. 

The boy carefully unwraps it then breaks off a piece to give to Jeno. 

“Oh,” He starts immediately, taken aback. “No no, you have it.” 

The boy hums a short mm-mm while shaking his head, insisting that Jeno take it. 

With a weary smile, his big hand meets the small one in front of him and he gently takes the piece of chocolate, slow and careful in case the little boy has any doubts. 

As you’re walking back to the laundromat, you can see the entire interaction through the huge windows in the front. The look that’s on Jeno’s face as he interacts with the boy is enough to make your knees weak. It’s so soft, almost loving. 

When you step back inside, you try to be as discreet as possible, but the bell on the door alerts everyone that you’re there. The two boys look at you curiously before recognition crosses Jeno’s eyes. 

You slide him his bag of sour gummy worms, and without any hesitation, he tears the corner open and spills a few into his hand. He offers his open palm to the boy, who at this point, is giddy and glowing with this new established friendship. He happily takes the worms and nods his head very firmly, “Thank you!” 

The boy isn’t there for much longer as his grandmother finishes loading the clothing and calls him over so that they can get ready to leave. He stuffs all the worms into his mouth so that he can hold the box of detergent tablets for her. 

It isn’t long before your clothes are done in the wash so that you can dump them into the dryer. You and Jeno pass time by making fun of the music videos playing on the TVs and showing each other viral cat videos. 

If there is one thing you know about Jeno, it’s that he loves cats. He’s always making comments about them in passing, showing you cute videos, texting you that he’ll be home in 10, he’s just busy looking at the cats that are up for adoption. 

He wants one desperately, it’s just that… 

“You know there’s no room.” 

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and it squeaks. “We could, like, take it for walks to get the energy out. If anything, we can get an older, lazy cat. I think it would like the space between the window and the couch.” 

You laugh, turning your head to check the time left on the dryer. “The non-existent one?” 

He throws his head back and groans. Your eyes stay focused on the way his adam's apple bobs for a second too long. “Jeno, living in a space that small feels like a crime against myself sometimes. I would not want to put an animal through that type of pain. Hell, we’re the hamsters in the cage!” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, giving you the stink eye, but it’s all in good fun. Deep down he knows that you’re right. 

The buzzer on the dryer goes off and catches the attention of both of you. You unload everything and dump it onto the folding table, a sigh slipping out of your mouth. 

Silently, Jeno offers to help you fold. You two split the pile of clothes in half and get to work, an awful Imagine Dragons song filling the silence. 

The entire situation isn’t quite ideal. The music is bad, the laundromat’s a little too cold, and you’d very much rather spend your time doing something else like ordering food and picking a thriller movie or challenging your roommate to a game of zombie COD. 

But that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Doing mundane and annoying things with someone that you care about. Folding your laundry with Jeno right next to you, tackling the boring tasks in life with someone by your side. He didn’t have to come help you, but perhaps he offered because he didn’t want you to suffer by your pile of clothing alone. Yeah, that’s what it’s all about. 

It’s a little domestic. Okay, it’s painfully domestic. Everything about Jeno is- you live with him, for heaven’s sake. It’s an entire domestic fantasy playing out right before your eyes. 

At this point, you’re folding all your clothes on autopilot and you don’t even realize that the both of you are done with your piles. Jeno places every article neatly in your big drawstring bag, keeping it tidy before pulling at the string. He keeps it in his arms as he guides the both of you out to his car. 

“Let’s pick up some food, yeah? And search up some good thrillers in the car?”

Upsettingly domestic. 

When something, anything, occurs in Jeno’s life that requires him to tell another person so that he can get it off his chest, you are the first person to come to mind. How can he not think about you, when you’re the first face he sees in the morning? The one he makes dinner with, the one he discusses the houseplants with, the one he has to watch get ready in the bathroom, toothbrush in your hand as you sloppily call out to him to please remember to take out the trash. 

The two of you share a life together, you share practically everything together. Your living space, tidbits of your interactions with others, news that’s spreading around the city; your unmasked heart and soul shines through every single day. It’s so candid it could almost be romantic, yet it’s anything but that. 

Well, sometimes… 

No, Jeno doesn’t go there. But he can’t help but think… 

When something happens, you’re the person he wants to tell. The most basic and foundational characteristic of love. Sharing. It transcends the physical- of course, you do find yourselves splitting dinners and breaking the last cookie in half so that the both of you can enjoy. But it’s more than that, now. You and him break apart your own beings so that the other can understand, listen, and console. It’s love, he thinks. 

Platonic love, he quickly corrects. 

He’s been so busy thinking about it that he’s barely realized he’s been staring at the one piece of paint that’s chipping off the wall for too long. The sound of the shower water hitting the tub brings him back, and he looks to the closed bathroom door. 

He rushes to it, knuckles knocking on the wood. “Can I come in?” 

“Huh?” You practically holler. He laughs to himself, imagining your confused, scrunched up face. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Oh, yeah. Be quick because all the cold air gets in!” 

So he does just that, opening the door just a crack and trying to squeeze in his muscular form so that the air doesn’t rush in.

Jeno closes the door and leans against the bathroom counter, all the heat from the shower coddling him close. It could almost make him sleepy. 

“Taeyong wants to promote me.” 

“Huh?” You call, hands freezing in your hair as you wash it. “Are you serious? To what?” 

“Assistant Manager.” 

“Assistant Manager? Are you gonna take it?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just… I’m kind of nervous.” 

A beat of silence. He calls out your name. 

“Yeah, sorry. My face was in the water. Anyway, why? Scared an old geezer is gonna chew you out for the ‘new generation’s music’?’

He laughs. You’re lucky enough to hear it over the water. 

“It’s just a lot of responsibility, you know? Like, I’m so used to just doing what I’m told but now, it’s like, I gotta be in charge and tell the employees to get off their phones when they're on the clock. It’s betrayal, you know? How can I look Jisung in the eye and tell him that this is his first warning? I can’t do that.” 

You shut your eyes and try to stifle a laugh. It’s a laugh of endearment, though. Jeno cares so much about the people around him- even if it’s his younger coworker who works part time at the record store and barely even sees him more than three times a week. 

You shut the water off, voice clear. “Jeno. You worry a lot.” You pull back the shower curtain just a little to peek out, “Can you hand me my towel?”

He obeys, holding out the towel to the edge of the shower with his eyes closed. As soon as he feels it slip past his fingers and the sound of the shower curtain rings clink together, he opens his eyes. You’re still behind the curtain, drying off. 

“I think you should go for it. You’ll get more experience. Plus, from what you’ve told me, the record shop isn’t crazy unmanageable and unorganized. And,” You add, dragging out the ‘a’, “You’ll get a raise.” 

You’re right, he thinks, tilting his head and staring off. The shop is pretty calm, the customers are mostly older regulars and the occasional teenager in search of a Harry Styles vinyl. Plus, a raise would be nice. Really nice. 

“Did you tell Mark and Jaemin? What did they say?” 

Jeno hesitates. No, he hasn’t told them yet. You’re always the first person he wants to tell. 

“No,” He starts, honest. “I was gonna tell them right now, but I wanted to tell you first. I think I’ll follow your advice anyway.” 

Your heart stops in your chest. God, that made you feel so special. You’re at a loss for words before you feel the water drip from your hair down your back. 

“Good. Now step out ‘cuz I gotta dry off.” 

He smiles and follows your every word. He remembers not to let the cold air in, too. 

Jeno is your roommate. He is also your friend, a companion, a confidant. He’s nothing more, nothing less. 

People have eyes. They’re allowed to look. In fact, it is their god given right to let their eyes linger a little longer on someone as attractive as Lee Jeno. 

Why are you so upset? You can’t just shield him, carry a curtain around and charge a fee for people to look his way. He’s a free man. A free, good looking man. 

This party was a mistake. Watching Jeno be tonight's entertainer has planted a seed of bitterness and disappointment in your stomach that you have never felt. The bitterness is towards the situation- you’re not sure if you’re disappointed in yourself for feeling this way or for how the universe has laid out the cards. You long for something to happen. You wickedly hope for that girl to spill her drink on herself and be forced to walk away. You wickedly hope for Jeno to come to his senses and ask you if you wanna go back home and crush some random 12 year old in a shooter game. 

Come to his senses? What are you, his mentor? God forbid the man has fun for one night. He’s not even doing anything that bad. Just dancing with some girl you have never seen before, lifting his hand and caressing her jaw. He’s so unbelievable and so, so, so horrible when he gently tucks her hair behind her ear. You want to vomit. 

“You okay?” Jaemin asks, making you jump as he slips into the spot right next to you. He’s got a red cup in his hand and you hold back from snatching it and downing whatever the fuck is in it. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m kind of proud, actually. I’ve never seen Jeno interact with a woman before. Not like this, at least. I always thought he’d bring girls home every night, yet he never does.” 

Jaemin’s eyes flash with something like confusion, tenderness, sorrow. You don’t see it though, busy focused on the way Jeno leans into her and talks gently by her ear. She’s giggling and sliding her hand up his chest. You’re positive she can smell the cologne you helped him pick out earlier. 

“He’s just being courteous of you.” 

“I guess,” You say with a lazy shrug. Deep down you know you’re only trying to convince yourself that you see him and support him as a friend; strictly a friend. And you seem to play that part pretty well, because Jaemin does not question you at all. 

“I think I’m gonna head home,” You start, checking the time on your phone. Jaemin whips his head to look back at you, “Tapping out already?” 

“Yeah. I don’t really know anyone here, only came because Jeno invited me. Plus, he recently bought some new maps in COD, so, I think I wanna try those out.” 

“You sure? I think I could introduce you to someone, help you get that midterm stress off your mind.” 

You practically snort at his offer. He’s considerate, you think, but you cannot betray your own feelings. You’d be a fool to try and trick yourself into thinking a fling with some rando will make you feel better. 

Well… you’re still a fool. Yearning from afar, not doing anything about it. 

“Nah, I’m okay. Thank you, Jaem. Get home safe, okay?” 

He nods and the two of you part ways. 

You find yourself in an uber, shooting Jeno a text that says hey, i really wanna play COD so im heading home early. please be safe lol. :_)

You’re dropped off and you walk up to your apartment, trying your hardest not to wallow in your own feelings. You head straight to the bathroom to remove all your makeup and get ready for bed before pulling yourself up the stairs. 

Your mattress awaits you like it’s got its arms open. Cozy, warm, solid enough for you to cry into. 

Your home feels your pain. It’s like everything looks a little bit darker, the cream white walls seeming to be gray, the little light fixtures and hardware looking like frowny faces. The walls absorb all your feelings, reeking of longing and hope and something else that is usually paired with those two feelings. Something so captivating and large, dark and light, something so scary yet you just have to have faith in it. Something that you would rather die than confess to yourself. 

So it sits, pent up in the walls of your home. It haunts you. This stupid apartment haunts you, traces of the life you live with Jeno everywhere. You can’t hide. You can’t run to the other side of the hallway and lock yourself in the room in the very back- it’s not there. Your life and your feelings are right in front of your face, everywhere you turn, everything you touch. It stings, it burns, and god, this home will kill you. Your close and unavoidable proximity with Jeno will kill you. 

You’re so busy moping that you almost miss the sound of the door opening. It’s quiet, slow, and you bet to yourself that Jeno is trying his hardest to be kind, to not wake you up. 

You’re scared that you’ll hear the giggle of the girl, but it never comes. Just Jeno making his way around the shoebox, using the flashlight on his phone to light the way instead of switching the lights on so that he doesn’t disturb you. Curse that stupid boy. 

Jeno shuts the door to the bathroom and turns on the shower. The sound is so calming that it lulls you to sleep. 

He lets the warm water caress at his back, lets it help him relax. He replays every single thing that happened at the party. 

He regrets leaving you alone. In the back of his mind, he knew Mark and Jaemin would take good care of you, but shouldn’t he be doing that? Taking care of you. 

He’s not obligated to, of course, and he knows that if he ever mentioned that to you, you’d snicker in his face and tell him to shuddup and let loose. But he can’t. He tried and didn’t even get that far. 

Jeno got into the bedroom and onto the bed with that girl, his body slowly pushing against hers so that she could lay down. The top few buttons of his black shirt were already popped open and his mind was so foggy he almost didn’t hear his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

He felt bad, but he knew he would’ve hated himself even more if he ignored it, so he had pulled back and checked the screen. In his heart, he knew it was you. 

Luckily, you hadn’t seemed upset, but it was like guilt took him hostage as he realized you left the party without him. You got home without him, and you spent the night alone. Jeno suddenly felt so upset and so… gross. Grossed out with himself. He tossed you to the side just like that. And for what? A fling that wouldn’t fulfill his heart like you do? Yeah, no. 

“I’m sorry,” He starts, looking from his screen to the girl’s face. She’s got a look that tells him she already knows what's coming. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah,” He says automatically, then falls quiet for a beat. “Well, kind of. I have to go.” 

“It's okay,” She says gently, and it hurts even more because she's genuinely nice about it. “Get home safely. I hope everything’s alright.”

So now Jeno’s home but he’s a little too late. You’re already tucked away in bed and he wishes he would've just come back with you, play a few games and then crash. It's odd not to hear you tell him goodnight; it's become like a ritual between you two. Some nights the two of you stick together like packed sardines in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and poking fun at one another with a quiet and subtle joy in your hearts. 

Jeno’s finishes showering by the time he’s done thinking over all the details. He dries off fast, feeling slightly uncomfortable and alone. Every space in the apartment is so silent that it’s unnerving. 

Before Jeno slips past the curtain to get to his bed, he stands at the foot of the stairs, making out the shape of your sleeping form, face smushed directly in your pillow. The sight is so you that he cannot help but chuckle quietly to himself. 

He sees you there, at the top of the stairs, and for a second it feels like you're waiting for him there. Patient and resting as he navigates through how he feels before making his descent upwards. 

Quickly, he realizes he's too sleepy to be plaguing himself with these thoughts. Jeno pulls back the curtain and sinks into his bed, subconsciously falling in a position that would fit against your body so perfectly if the two of you shared a sleeping space. You feel so close and so far from him. It's the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep. 

How do you tell someone that you want them without actually telling them? 

Your relationship with Jeno is built on something so fragile that he’s afraid to mess up, trip and let the glass shatter. You’re friends– real close friends, if he thinks about it. You share a home together that’s small enough to make him think that it certainly violates a number of human rights. You cannot go a day without seeing or speaking to each other. 

It's so sour and it's so, so sweet. Spending everyday together, reading each other, communicating in small ways that mean the most– his heart swells and gets clogged in his throat. He’s so close to you it's like your fingertips are brushing against his as you sit on opposite sides of the couch. And, if all goes well, he could unabashedly take your hand in his and spread kisses on the back of it. Even better, he could pull you right into his lap and smush at your face, kiss you there too. So many possibilities… 

Along with those possibilities comes the ones that are on the other end of the scale. He could open up (more than he already has) about his feelings and unintentionally make you uncomfortable. Oh, he would hate himself if you felt uncomfortable in your own home. Then it would really be bad, because you'd both need time and space but you practically share a goddamn bunk bed and a kitchen that feels like a toddler’s first real-life toy. It pains him more to think that you'd be unhappy than how he would feel to be rejected. 

Instead, Jeno’s feelings manifest into actions and touch. When you get up from putting on your shoes and your hair's a little astray, he’ll reach over and fix it for you, keeping his touch light and gentle. He insists on helping you button up your coats and tying a bow on the back of your dresses. When he sees that you’re especially tired, he’ll wash all the dishes even though it was your turn. Sometimes, when the apartment feels especially warm and the lighting is cozy and you feel so lethargic yet blissfully happy, you’ll tell him about your day with his thumb caressing your cheek. And sometimes, you’ll lean into the palm of his hand and he’ll keep you still. 

It’s not until the day where he finds you knocked out on the couch that you slip up. He had come home late from work, the shop buzzing with people looking for a Christmas gift for that one vinyl collector of a friend. He had told you he’d be late, but you thought you’d still have enough energy to stay up and wait for him so that the two of you could eat dinner and call it a night. 

Unfortunately, you did not have the energy. Finals had been consuming your life and now that it was finally over, you ended up knocking out on the couch like a baby, leaving the lights on and everything. Jeno smiled softly at your sleeping form, a familiar type of warmth crawling into his heart and nestling inside it. He quietly slipped off his shoes and made his way straight toward you, calling your name softly as a test. 

You didn’t wake at all. You were gone. 

It kind of makes him laugh; a laugh of adoration, not amusement. It’s one of those things that’s a little funny in its own way. 

It happens, he supposes, when your heart and life is so full of love that it has to escape somehow. In touch, in kisses, in laughter. 

For you, it escapes loud and clear- verbally. 

After Jeno decides to take a risk and lift you into his arms, you automatically curl into him, trusting him even in the depths of your sleep. He’s slow to walk up the stairs, careful to not let your head hit the wall as he makes his way upward. 

And it’s when he lays you down on your mattress tenderly, hands lightly pushing away all the hairs that fell onto your face, that you stir just a little bit. 

“Goodnight,” He whispers to you, using his body to block out the light he hadn’t turned off. A dopey little smile creeps onto your face. You’re euphorically sleepy, the feeling of slipping in and out of it feels so good. 

“Thank you,” You rasp a little, turning over. “Love you.”

Then you’re gone again, and Jeno is frozen in place at the top of the stairs, shoulders stiffening as the words swirl around in his head. 

Firstly, he’s upset he didn’t get to say it back. But the disappointment washes away quickly and he’s overcome with joy, practically buzzing as he descends down the steps to shut off all the lights and get ready for bed. He’s got a stupid smile on his face that he can’t even put away as he brushes his teeth, and if any medical professional were to see him right now, he’s surely be diagnosed with lovesickness. 

He whimsies all the way to his room, pulling back the curtain and plopping down on his bed like it’s a cloud and he’s in heaven. He falls asleep thinking of all the ways to say I love you. 

Winter break is lovely. It’s an abundance of warm drinks, wooly socks, sleeping in, and having an excuse to wear corny pajama sets. Your heart is at ease and the cold weather feels so nice when it bites at your cheeks- especially when you feel yourself grow a little warm around Jeno. 

For Jeno, it’s even better because there are a plethora of Christmas parties. 

And, usually, there’s mistletoe. 

“Alright, don’t get too excited. Close your eyes!” 

He obeys, shutting them and even bringing up his hands in front of his face so that you don’t think he’s pulling any tricks. 

You’ve got him sitting on the couch in anticipation as you dig through your shopping bags to find what’s so important. After a few moments of rustling and humming under your breath, he hears you sigh in relief. 

You hold up two sweaters in front of you, side to side. One is clearly bigger than the other. They’re thrifted and it’s very obvious that they were previously owned by elderly people; maybe they scream vintage a little too much, earth toned with eye-catching patterns like stripes and triangles running across the entire sweater. They’re only a little bit outdated, but painfully cute, and perfect for the season. 

“Okay. Open!” 

Jeno lays his eyes upon the sweaters and immediately breaks out into a smile, eyes forming crescents. Really, he doesn’t even look at them for long. His gaze lands directly on you. 

“You like ‘em?” 

“Very much,” He affirms, with his eyes still set on you. He’s not really talking about the sweaters. 

“Good! We’re wearing them at Hyuck’s party this weekend.” 

So the two of you wear the matching sweaters to Donghyuck’s party. When the both of you step in, Jaemin automatically makes a face at Jeno, an expression that silently screams Finally? but Jeno shakes his head. He doesn’t look solemn, though. In fact, his eyes are hopeful and bright as he nods his head at everything you say. 

He doesn’t budge from your side, either. 

(He wants everyone to see that you’re matching). 

It pays off because Renjun tells you both that you look like an elderly couple, to which he quickly corrects himself and says ‘duo’ instead. It’s kind of embarrassing with the way that he rushes off after, face a little red. You’re not sure if it’s because of the fact that he’s tipsy or because he’s worried he’s crossed a boundary. If anything, his comment makes you have to hold back a smile, and from the corner of your eye, you see Jeno biting at his cheek too. 

Renjun’s flushed cheeks inspire you. “You want anything to drink?” 

Jeno contemplates for a second before shaking his head, “Nah. I’ll drive us back home.” 

But he follows you to the kitchen anyways, where it’s quieter because everyone is in the living room talking over Jingle Bell Rock. You swear you can hear Donghyuck break into laughter at some point; you can already envision his happy little glowing face nuzzling up to Mark. 

Jeno leans against the doorway to the kitchen, fingers playing with the edges of his sweater as he observes you moving around to get yourself a drink. He’s thinking about a hundred things at once, and somehow, you both calm and excite him. 

You approach him, steadily holding your glass so that nothing sloshes over and spills. “You wanna try? Just a sip.”

He nods and takes it from your hand, bringing it up to his lips for a second before he evaluates the taste. You wait expectantly, and then Jeno gives you a solid nod before looking back over his shoulder and extending his arm to place your glass on the counter. When he turns back around, his hand comes up to gently rest on your arm. He very, very carefully pulls you closer. It’s gentle, slow, and so subtle you almost don’t even realize the proximity between you two getting smaller and smaller by the centimeter. “It’s pretty good.” 

“Just pretty good?” 

“Yeah,” He replies, tone so soft and far away that you immediately realize he doesn’t really care about the drink all that much. And then you realize that he’s got these beseeching love-me eyes that make your heart twist in such a pleasant way that you know you can’t escape. 

You can’t go back to how it was before. You’ll never be your old self, coexisting with Jeno in your tiny home with no care or feeling in the world towards him. You can’t go back to the days of trying to sneak past him, trying to go through the days without making eye contact and conversation. You won’t even be able to go back to the days where you merely saw him as a friend, a casual buddy that you’re glad you have a good dynamic with because you happen to share a home together. You can’t ignore how you feel, what you feel. It’s so heavy and it lingers in the air between you two now. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Look,” He nearly whispers, gesturing towards the ceiling with his chin. 

Mistletoe hangs at the doorway, green and white with a red ribbon adorning the stems. It’s so predictable and awful and overall so corny that you can’t help but laugh. Your tongue pokes at your cheek as your eyes trail from the plant back down to Jeno, who looks at you expectantly. He’s mindful enough to leave enough space for you to make a getaway if you want to. 

“Well,” You start, though it sounds more like a question, prompting Jeno to lean into you. 

He dips down and slots his lips against yours, pulling a wanton sigh out from you. You’re quick to have your hands on him, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sweater and you swear you can feel him smiling within the kiss. It’s almost enough to make you pull back so you can see the look on his face, but he holds you in place, fingers softly trailing through your hair. He hums contently, the deep sound of it making the tips of your ears warm. 

Your hands travel, sliding up his chest, and the two of you break apart before you end up devouring one another at the doorway of Donghyuck’s kitchen. 

Jeno smiles down at you as I’ll Be Home For Christmas starts playing. 

You’re a little nervous, the fear that comes with love pestering you at the back of your mind. You’re scared this’ll be a big unspeakable thing, a thing you’ll have to avoid in the house with Jeno. A thing that’ll never happen again, a thing to blame on the tiny sip of the drink he had and the consequences of spotting mistletoe. 

But Jeno’s eyes ask you to trust him, that he wants this just as much as you do. Perhaps this can be a reoccurring thing, except you don’t need mistletoe or drinks. You can do this in the comfort of your own home, when he gets home from work, after you both finish brushing your teeth, when you’re both making breakfast, or maybe in bed right after you wake up. 

You dive in again, hands sliding farther up till your fingers tousle through his hair, thumbs brushing against his ears. It tickles him a little, body reacting and caving into you a bit more, his hands cupping your cheeks. You tip your head back just the slightest and he follows, looming over you. He looms over you in a way that is so warm and loving and consuming - I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. 

Yes, he’s here. Holding you tenderly, your bodies shaped so nicely against one another at last. You’re no longer sitting on opposite ends of the couch, looking at each other from the top and bottom of the stairs, eyes lingering as soon as someone turns away. He’s touching you, and this time you don’t have to shy away or cough and he doesn’t have to play it off as a mistake, a mindless brush of skin that doesn’t mean anything. No, it means everything now. 

[weepingtalecowboy]

Fanfic prompt: the chain wants to make Wind have a childhood and because of that they enforce bed time

And wind instead of fighting them on their decision

Just agrees to go to sleep and at first they are nervous about him lying to them

And all stay at the tavern that night but no matter how much they checked

He didn’t sneak out nor did he wake up the entire time (he didn’t even flinch when someone tested if he was pretending)

Nothing happened the entire time and they checked on him and he truly seemed unconscious

So after a while the chain starts hanging out at pubs while one member stays behind in case of an emergency (usually legend or twilight because they don’t seem like the type to hang around public places for no reason )

Doing adult stuff (the good old life regretting decisions)

Like gambling

Drinking till they pass out

Playing cards

And more

What the chain didn’t know was that Wind was having bird adventures and committing crime (with seagull Marin and the occasional flock of other birds)

Because if you use hyoi pears you are unconscious

A perfect ability to get sleep and commit arson at once (and make people permanently afraid of gulls and birds of any kind)

The chain quickly became aware of a crazy seagull that was spotted stealing important documents and try to find it in case it was trained by a spy

(Legend was even more pissed at the fact that a seagull was used for the purpose of infiltrating a dangerous area)

And that is always an unpleasant experience because you have to be political about it for people (because spies can quickly derail into a full on war because of that they decide not to take Wind with them ( hypocritical because they let WILD and RULIE OF ALL PEOPLE WITH THEM )

Wind seemed unusually happy to not get to come with them and stay

And after seeing the gull behave more cautious and careful than before they took the mission

It only seems to confirm that the spy knows that they are looking

That is a dangerous situation for Hyrule

(Wind is just sending the others on a wild gull chase not realizing that he is about to start a war )

When the chain sees the gull get close to a tavern they are staying at they all freak out badly

Because that was the ONE day that they all had left together and wind is completely alone and a pretty easy target

Because how could they not notice that the spy would target the only person who was part of their group and by themselves a lot

After trapping the gull securely with a magic binding they find Wind not waking up anymore no matter what they do the gull just starts gulling more aggressively by laughing at them (wind is in hysteria because that was not at all what he wanted )

After leaving to figure out what it did to wind

They all start freaking out again because no matter how much they try (and hyrule tries a lot ) wind isn’t waking up anymore

And even the lens of truth show that wind is missing his literal soul

What kind of monster are they dealing with

Wind also starts freaking out because he just realized that he can’t get back to his body and that he is trapped in a bird cage

The whole thing only escalates further when he escapes and snatches Wild‘s slate trying to communicate but instead accidentally bombs a warehouse with important items in it

[iloveyanderes]

EVEN MORE YANDERE/SAGAU IDEAS!!!!!!!!!!! WITH A LITTLE LESS YANDERE ON THE SIDE😉 BECAUSE I FORGOT TO INCORPORATE IT BETTER

1.A girl gets isekai’d after a boy she’d bullied had enough and killed her. She woke up in the body of a really kind girl in genshin that everyone is obsessed with, she decided to pretend to be this girl as a means of survival, as these people would most likely kill her if they found out she wasn’t that kind little girl. Along the way She met a boy who ended up being her first true friend, making her realize what she has done and wrong giving her the courage to want to change. Just when she got better leading to the path of redemption the boy was found dead completely crushing any type of kindness in her heart, she realized all the genshin characters had killed him so she vowed to kill them all but not before ruining all of there lives first(I actually attempted to write this a long time ago on wattpad but it never went into fruition, so this might seem familiar)

2.Small sagau idea but it goes like this: girl has golden blood for a completely different reason then the sagau idea, ends up in genshin and everyone mistakes her for the creator and she's freaking out trying to convince everyone she's not the creator

3.Genshin impact x Ichigo from tokyo mew mew reader. With your transformation, cat ears and tail, and the actual ability to turn into a cat everyone is trying to get a reaction out of you(look online and you’ll understand why) I'd imagine yae would take advantage of it with the whole gorou situation as proof. Also there is no way inazuma doesn’t have a bunch of light novels or manga on magical girls

4.Dragon reader vs bird reader. You’ll get no further explanation

5.Sagau idea where instead of the reader being the creator they are a holy saint/saintness who's supposed to represent the creator as their prophet who will feel nothing but utter devotion when they see the creator. However on the day that you prophesied the creator would descend something goes wrong, when you lay your eyes on them the only thing you feel is fear and disgust. It’s immediately prevalent that This is not the creator but a demon, everyone else believes this to be the creator however so you can’t really do anything without the fear of being killed or worse, so you resolve to find the true creator while pretending to still love this demon. Meanwhile the demon is someone who always believed themselves to be better then the creator, they’re jealousy blinded them until it turned into envy where they wanted to be the creator. Quite literally trapping them down in hell when they were supposed to descend and taking their place. Since they want to be the creator that meant they had to be loved by everyone including you-especially you. The saintness meant to serve the creator and adore they’re every movement, so they casted a charm spell that seemed to work on everyone-except for you. It doesn’t matter they’ll do anything to get your love- because it belongs to them not that creator-they deserve that destiny

6. Not a genshin nor sagau thingy but what if a genshin archon reader accidentally falls asleep(can be any element you want but I chosen dendro for this) and wakes up thousands of years later where teyvat has become nothing but an empty shell, eventually you get picked up by the astral express after wandering the empty planet. you adventure all the new worlds, help the trailblazer while ignoring their weirdness, and find a way to mourn all your lost comrades. It’s discovered that elemental energy had mixed and muddled with each other eventually forming into something more murky and hallow which made the Aeons, you discover this when they start to hunt you down as there obsessed with you and the idea that your the last ‘pure’ being in the universe, something they want to obtain.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

[julietsbb]

so pondphuwin legal drama tv show where phuwin is a famous boxer with anger issues and pond is a defence lawyer

brought to you by a) pw being cute and doing silly boxing moves as they were shooting stuff for promoting fancon b) the pictures on pond in specs today and c) ppw in suits (and d) i want more unhinged angry phuwin content HE WOULD DO IT SO WELL and e) I want pond in more three piece suits and glasses and I’m desperate for him to have another role where he gets to sound intelligent/smart)

so Phuwin absolutely loses his shit at some asshole and beats him bloody I don’t care if it was justified or not or betty or righteous doesn’t matter but the dude hits him with an assault charge

And Phuwin can’t go to jail because then he can’t box and that would make him lose his mind because it’s the only way he knows to process his anger so IN COMES DEFENCE LAWYER POND who doesn’t even fucking want this case, he spends his time defending like, actually down on their luck people who deserves an extra chance BUT he’s also working in a corporate word that needs to make money and his boss told him to take the case because he’s friends with phuwin’s agent and pond is the bestest or some such and he owes his boss a favour

Anyways they obviously hate each other because phuwin’s anger at the entire situation keeps going off and makes pond’s job harder etc etc (also both of them are very attractive and they also hate that about each other)

And so it’s the night before the first hearing (they’ve been trying to dig up stuff to discredit the victim somehow) and pond snaps and is like “Jesus Christ if it can stop you from going off in court tomorrow just punch ME and get it out of your system I would prefer that actually” (it’s 2am and he has no filter left)

And pw’s character is like “????? what”

And pond is like “never mind I’m just tired” and pw’s like “no wait punching you sounds good actually could we do that because I’ve been wanting to punch your stupid fucking face with your stupid fucking glasses—“ and pond’s like “well if you’re punching me it’s sure as fuck not on my face because a) I need my glasses and b) it wouldn’t actually help your case if I showed up looking like my client with the assault charge just assaulted me, so it would defeat the purpose of it all” and then pw’s like well where the fuck can I hit you then and pond gives it serious consideration and it becomes, slowly, apparent, that he Knows Things™️ about being hit, saying stuff like “the meat of my thighs if I sit down or my buttocks if I’m lying down somewhere but that would be more awkward. possibly my chest too but let’s avoid my diaphragm and gut area” and like, he gets up and takes off his jacket???? and tie!??? and phuwin’s like “????????” but it also kind of makes him want to hit him more and pond tells him to control his punches so they don’t accidentally hit somewhere they shouldn’t and phuwin laughs in his face because don’t he know he’s talking to a professional boxer actually??

And so they find some way Phu gets to punch him in a way that’s Safe Sane and Consensual and phuwin thinks it’s weird as shit wtf kinda lawyer did they GIVE him but he…… can’t deny he feels better afterwards. And pond gets some MEAN bruises but they’re all covered up by clothes so it’s fine actually as he’d hoped his brain is much clearer after (actually after the first two punches pond has to tell him that he can hit harder than that it’s okay. phuwin hits harder)

Anyways court the next day isn’t a total disaster they haven’t lost YET bought themselves some more time the team celebrates with a beer that evening and they’re the only two left and phuwin’s tongue is loose enough to ask about it and pond’s is loose enough to answer, tell him about how people can enjoy pain in different ways, how it’s something he practises on occasion but has done so for a good long while and Phuwin is like o______o and like… “so it’s not just… punches?” And pond laughs in his face and tells him about how there’s a million different ways and types and personally he would usually prefer a heavy flogger to his back on a normal day but he’s tried this and that.

And phuwin’s char is FASCINATED and his fingers are starting to itch like they usually do for a boxing glove but less familiar and well worn, more new and existing. Exhilarating.

Anyways so Phuwin gets a new way to channel his anger and becomes the calmer for it in the rest of his life and pond guides him through it all very patiently whilst a) having a Great Time but also b) having a very Bad Time because he’s entering into a non-work intimate-but-not-sexual (yet) relationship with Important But Obnoxious Work Client (who really is less obnoxious once his shoulders unclench)

Also phuwin’s character has a cat that’s as aggressive as he is.

(Ps: maybe it turns out the “victim” was actually paid by one of pw’s competitors to deliberately piss him off to sabotage him or something I don’t know but they discover SOMETHING shady and thus there is plot they can bond over)

(Pps: they fall in love your honour)